


My Featherbed

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Love, No Spoilers, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Wedding, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor uses his lordship after the war to take his little bird north. A Tale Inspired by Karliene Reynolds version of "My Featherbed" from ASOS prompted by Kylabosch on LJ.<br/>"My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down/I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.<br/>For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword./ And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree/ She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me/<br/>I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass/But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass."<br/>—Tom Sevenstrings, A Storm of Swords, pg. 309</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For the Love of Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moa_in_the_Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moa_in_the_Moon/gifts).



> Thank you for reading ;D

* * *

Even with Sandor Clegane serving as her sworn shield, Sansa could not be made to feel safe in the Red Keep. It mattered not that her brother had been declared Azor Ahai reborn by Queen Daenerys, at once a mystical reincarnation of both wolf and the blood of the dragon. It did not matter to her that all her enemies were dead and buried, or more often than not, sent to the Seven hells by dragonfire.

The castle was now the home of her brother and the queen, and had been refashioned in its entirety since Sansa was held there by the Lannisters. But the change in scenery did little to assuage the young woman’s fears. The ghosts of her tormentors lurked around every corner, recalling memories of horrors past until she felt veritably forced back into the cage from which Sandor had freed her so long ago.

Despite her best efforts, she knew she would never come to view the castle as anything other than her former prison. Ever loyal to her family, she had sworn to do her duty by her brother and the queen by helping Daenerys gain support of the northern lords after the Great War. Every night since she arrived, Sansa trembled as Sandor escorted her to her rooms, and each night he never failed to offer to steal her away just as he did long ago.

"I could take you to Winterfell. I'll keep you safe." Sandor rasped against her ear as the reached her door, his grating tone echoing against the marble walls in spite of his attempt at secrecy. "Do you want to go home?"

She was a creature of the north and Sansa knew that despite all that happened, her heart would forever belong there. She wanted nothing more than leave King’s Landing behind her, but honor ran deep in the young woman. After all Daenerys had done for the Starks, she would not risk offending her, not even for her own sake. As Sandor stared into her eyes, Sansa dutifully repeated to him what she had told herself these many moons.

“You know I cannot,” she whispered softly, tracing small circles over his studded jerkin. “I promised Jon that I would try. It is for our family.”

Scoffing, Sandor tipped her chin to face him. “Bugger that nonsense, Little bird. That dragon lady didn’t live here with Joffrey and Cersei. Neither did your brother. They know not what they were asking, wanting you to come back here.” Sandor turned away from her and spat in disgust. “How could they? But I did. For all your begging, I should have never agreed to bring you back to this shithole.”

Sansa had long ago learned to overlook his rough tongue. “Like it or not, Daenerys is family to me now, and I must do my part to assist her.” When he remained silent, she added, “Sandor, I owe my brother that much. She gave my family Winterfell-she made Jon her heir to the throne! You cannot expect me to ignore her generosity just because I am not at ease. It would be an affront.”

“You don’t owe her your soul, gods damn it. You best believe if it was a matter of her comfort she wouldn’t hesitate to leave this fucking place.” Drawing a deep breath, Sandor turned to face her and took her hands in his. “I don’t care about a single bloody thing here, only you. I’ll take you away; just say the word and it’s done.”

“If only I could,” Sansa whispered while staring at their entwined fingers, not daring to meet his smoldering gaze. Sandor loosened his hold, tracing her jawline with the tip of his finger until slowly she raised her eyes to him.

“You need not fear anyone, Sansa. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword. You know that.” His expression was unreadable, intense and full of something Sansa could not quite name.

She felt the color rise to her cheeks as she regarded him, the only man who ever cared for her alone and not her claim. “I do, Sandor and I am truly grateful.”

Sandor remained silent, his deep gray eyes glittering as he approached her. Slowly he glided his hands over her back and down the swell of her hip, resting them there. “Your princely brother made me a lord, Little bird, remember?” Swiftly he closed the distance between them and pulled her against his body. “I think it’s time I made that bloody title worth something.”

The unexpectedness of his movement and sudden close proximity drew a gasp from Sansa’s lips, making her feel flushed and light headed. He was so very warm and powerful, and she never felt safer than when she was in his arms. She had done all she could to encourage him and yet after all this time he never did more than kiss her.

What could he possibly be thinking of doing now? And since when did that title he hated so much matter to him? Jon had insisted he take it because of his acts of valor during the Great War and felt it more fitting for her sworn shield to be a titled man. Sandor had sworn and shouted to anyone who came near him for a fortnight after.

Sansa finally found her voice, her answer sounding far breathier than she intended. “Sandor, whatever do you mean?”

Grinning wickedly, he opened her door. “Don't you mean ‘ _my lord'_?" He sneered, ushering her inside. "You’ll find out soon enough, lass. Get some rest. I’m off to speak to your brother.” 

* * *

Standing before Jon in his fine woolen tunic, leather breeches and stiff boots with his hair combed carefully over the burned side of his face, Sandor Clegane never felt like more of a fool in his life. Even after all the he spent years serving Robert, upon returning to the Red Keep the scarred man soon found the formality of daily life in court grated on his nerves worse than ever. He hated everything about it, but if being a lord held any advantage at all for him with the Little bird, then fuck him sideways, he would use it.

“I need to speak with you, Your Grace, about the little b-that is to say, Lady Sansa.” Bloody hells but he was off to a bad start.

“Oh yes? Do come in, Lord Clegane,” Jon grinned, motioned for him to take a seat. He could not resist needling his sister’s sworn shield. “Is everything quite well?”

Sniffing, Sandor drew in a deep breath before shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I would ask your leave to speak plainly, Your Grace.”

Sandor’s unease did not escape Jon’s notice. “Certainly, Sandor; what is on your mind?”

“Your Grace, Sansa endured more hell in this place than you know. I did what I could for her at the time but it wasn’t enough. I’ll wager she’s never offered to tell you of it-she’s always been too much of a proper lady.” His words came out harsh, angry, and Sandor figured to count himself lucky if the prince didn’t feed him to one the dragons.

“Continue, please.” Jon had always feared there was far more that happened than Sansa would say. Many times since their reunion he implored her to tell him of it, to allow him to right the wrongs done to her. To his great dismay, however, she never could bring herself to go into particulars. He knew she was having difficulty adjusting to life at the castle but when he asked her about it, she never complained.

“Let me make it clear that I’m not here at Sansa’s bidding and I bloody well won’t break her confidence by telling you of her trials, then or now. I’ve tried holding my tongue but it’s time you see your sister as the woman she is and not the child you knew growing up. She wants to help you and the queen, but believe me when I say this fucking place is no good for her.”

“What would you have me do?” Jon asked, sensing the man before him had his own ideas.

The burned side of Sandor’s mouth twitched several times before he replied. “I believe she would be better off going back north-with me.”

Jon sat up straight, struggling to suppress a smile. He had long since discovered Sansa’s affection for her scarred protector but so far Sandor had managed to hide any signs of his own feelings on the matter. “With you-that is your suggestion? And how would that look to the young handsome lords all vying for her hand with the queen?”

“With all due respect, I don’t give one red piss about what any of those buggering bastards think about it, Your Grace,” Sandor growled out harsher than he meant. “I only think of Sansa’s safety.”

Raising his eyebrow, Jon pressed further. “What of her happiness? Do you think of that.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor nodded gravely. “Aye, that too.”

Folding his arms, Jon rose to his feet. “Now I will be the one to speak plainly, Sandor; what is it you are asking of me?”

“I would ask for her hand in marriage, Your Grace. I wish to return north with Sansa as my lady wife.”


	2. Sandor Pledges His Troth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told him I want to take you away from here. Take you north with me,” he muttered before lowering his mouth to her shoulder, lightly sipping on her skin.
> 
> "North?” She whispered thickly, leaning against him further. 
> 
> "Yes, North. The little bird still repeats what she hears." He brushed his cheek against her neck and slowly ran his fingers along her collarbone. "That's not all."

* * *

_There. It was done._ Sandor was amazed he was able to get his proposal out of his anxiety-parched throat. Knowing she was not fit for a man as low born as he, Sandor had long given up the idea of having Sansa for himself. Though he desired her body and soul, he instead learned to content himself with her kisses and embraces and be grateful for whatever little attentions she saw fit to give him.

Sandor was not blind to Jon's predicament. Many men still wanted her claim to strengthen their own as the north rebuilt. More than that, the queen needed her to cement new alliances and gain the trust of the people. If her prince of a brother had any sense, he would turn him down flat. After all, Sandor was only the lord of whatever remained of Clegane Keep, and the man knew his broken down claim would not likely satisfy the queen or her brother.

He was not sure how Sansa would even react to the idea of marrying him. She seemed happy enough when they were together. Not wanting to give her false hope, he had never even told her he loved her, though he did his best to show it in a myriad of ways. One day he came across a Tyroshi merchant offering the finest yellow silk Sandor had ever seen. He bought an entire bolt of the material on the spot and gave it to her as a nameday present, secretly hoping she would agree to wear the colors of his house.

A week later she came to watch him in the training yard wearing a lovely yellow gown made from his gift. When she stood up to applaud, he immediately noticed she wore a black velvet sash at her tiny waist. The sight of her filled him with pride, an emotion the man felt precious few times in his life. Sandor never fought harder than he did that day, brutally pummeling every man who challenged him if only to hear her sweet voice calling his name as she cheered him on.

Raising his eyes, he frowned as he expectantly regarded Jon, the man one day he hoped to call his goodbrother. If it were any other man gaping at him, he would have laughed outright or snarled in the buggering bastard’s face, depending on his mood. However, the dumbstruck look on Jon’s face held no humor for him now.

Taken aback, the prince stepped closer. “I need to hear you pledge your sincerity. I need you to tell me that this is not just some ruse to take her from here.”

A rush of anger swept over Sandor. Though his words rasped out even harsher than usual, he managed to hold himself in check. “Your Grace, I would never play false with your sister. I meant my words, though I admit I’m not the sort a man in your position would wish for his sister.”

“Forgive me; you have never given me reason to doubt your word. Have you asked her yourself?” Jon cautiously probed, sensing Sandor was affronted by his remark. The man was one of his finest soldiers and he could not risk alienating him over a trifle.

“Not as yet. I thought it best to approach you first.” Sandor answered flatly, his already limited patience wearing thinner by the moment.

After several moments spent deep in thought, Jon suggested, “I am sure you would agree Sansa has had far too many people arrange marriages for her without her consent in her young life. I give you leave to go to her first, Sandor, and ask for her hand. If she is agreeable, I will do my best to convince the queen of the match.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sandor bows stiffly before turning toward Sansa’s rooms. For perhaps the first time in his life, a sudden lightness flooded the man’s senses. From their first kiss, all of his interactions with Sansa- even their expressions of affection-were plagued by doubt, longing, and the deep seated fear of losing her to another.

Now that was replaced with a unique, altogether unfamiliar sensation the scarred man could hardly identify. Was it happiness? As he knocked on her door, Sandor decided that if had to name it, he would call the new feeling hope.

After several moments, her maid Jenny answered the door. “She ain’t here, milord. She went to the godswood not a quarter of an hour past. Said if you came by to say she wishes to meet you there.”

* * *

After her prayers Sansa seated herself on a low bough of the immense weirwood and waited for Sandor. Wrapping her arms around the trunk, she leaned back and stared up through the crimson canopy above her, imagining she was back at Winterfell once more. It was a diversion of fantasy Sansa liked to imagine whenever she came to worship. She would stay until it became real to her, until she could will the warm breeze wafting into the forest to become a chilled flurry carried down from the Frostfangs.

Sansa heard Sandor enter the godswood, the dried leaves underneath his shuffling gate breaking the stillness. A small smile played across her face, her heart quickening at the familiar sound. “I see my sworn shield has found me at last,” she giggled softly as his powerful arms came around her waist. She had worn her hair up in the style her mother taught her for Robert’s feast at Winterfell, and Sandor wasted no time taking advantage of her exposed skin.

“Damn it, you ought to have waited for me, Sansa,” he rasped against her neck, his warm breath sending tingles throughout her body. “Fuck, it’s not safe for the likes of you out here alone. Don’t ever do that again.”

She shrugged. “I knew you would be on your way to find me once you spoke to my brother.” Glancing over her shoulder, she cast him a questioning look.

Sandor pulled her closer still, spanning her abdomen with his large hand while steadying her against him. “Always the proper lady,” he snorted, bringing her back against his body. “Go on, ask me. You bloody well know you want to know.”

Knitting her brows, Sansa felt torn; as much as she wanted to know what Sandor was up to, she knew it would be unladylike to ask him for the details of a private conversation between her brother and sworn shield.

As if reading her thoughts, Sandor chuckled low and tilted her head to the side. He brought his other hand around her collarbone, lightly tracing his calloused fingers over her smooth flesh before running his tongue along the pulse point just below her ear.

“Ask me.” His deep voice murmured against her neck.

In the back of her mind Sansa could hear her septa’s voice saying that such kisses where not proper for a lady to allow, especially before marriage. But the feel of his fingers warmly splayed across her midsection paired with his kisses threatened to overwhelm her. She could feel him slowly beginning to trace his fingers over her belly. Any resolve she had to put an end to his attentions evaporated at his touch.

Swallowing hard, Sansa struggled to find her voice. “Why did you talk to Jon? What-what was it about?”

He ran his fingers over the neckline of her gown and pulled the material away, exposing the tender skin untouched by the sun. “I told him I want to take you away from here. Take you north with me,” he muttered before lowering his mouth to her shoulder, lightly sipping on her skin.

Her soft body and warm scent intoxicated him. Sandor wanted to mark her there, and show everyone that she belonged to him. He sensed his desire was on the cusp of overtaking his reason, and so with great difficulty he lifted his head and rested it in her hair.

The heat of his touch was overpowering, rendering Sansa unsteady. "North?” She whispered thickly, leaning against him further. Did she hear him right? He asked Jon to let her go north with him? Surely her brother would never agree to such a thing.

"Yes, North. The little bird still repeats what she hears." He brushed his cheek against her neck and slowly ran his fingers along her collarbone.

"I would like that very much." Sansa dazedly replied, tilting her head to the side.

Sandor found her response to him irresistible; he nuzzled into her shoulder and inhaled deeply. "That's not all."

 _There was more?_ A deep sigh of pleasure escaped her lips before she asked, "What else did you say to him?"

“I told him I mean to take you as my lady wife,” he rasped against her neck before his warm tongue descended upon her skin once more.


	3. Forest Love, Forest Lass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing a red leaf from his cloak, she twisted it by the stem. “We will wed in the woods, then.”
> 
> “The woods?” Interested, he narrowed his eyes at her.
> 
> “Yes. I will fashion my wedded gown from weirwood leaves and tie my hair with the yellow autumn grass of your sigil. I'll be your forest lass and you will be my forest love," she leaned in and kissed him soundly. "And for once in our lives, Sandor, we will know happiness.”

* * *

His extraordinary words snapped Sansa’s mind out of the pleasurable haze of his touch. Her heart raced with excitement as she mulled it over. _Did I hear him right? He asked Jon for my hand in marriage?_ It never occurred to her that Sandor had ever desired wedded life, let alone would go so far as to make an offer of marriage to her brother.

As much as she loved him, he was hardly the kind of man she could imagine settling down with a family. Long ago Sansa determined she would never press him for more than he was willing to give her. Sandor cared for her in his own way, but what possessed him to do make such a rash request?

Next she thought of Jon’s reaction and could scarcely imagine what he must have thought. No doubt he would have just as hard a time comprehending Sandor’s behavior. She hoped her brother had not taken offense. Then there was Daenerys. With all the high lords seeking her claim for an alliance with the Iron throne, the young woman had no expectation that the queen would react better than Jon. Anxiety flooded her mind and she turned away to wring her hands.

Suddenly she became aware that she had not spoken. Sansa turned to face him. “You did-you did what?”

Sandor regarded her closely and held his breath, waiting for her to reply. Would the little bird turn him down out of some buggering misplaced sense of duty? Or would it be because he wasn’t the knight in shining armor she had always dreamed of? Lately she had plenty of pretty boys as suitors but Sandor had believed she was over such nonsense; now he was not so sure. When the silence stretched between them, however, a sickening dread washed over the man.

Her eyes were glistening and a wide smile spread across her face as she looked up at him. Hopeful once more, he repeated, “I told Jon that I want to wed you, that I mean to take you north as my wife.” Slowly he ran his fingertips under her chin and waited.

Sansa smiled softly and turned her face up to him. “Sandor, this is most unexpected-I never thought-”

Shaking his head, he interrupted her. “Damn it, I-just let me just get this out. Please.”

 _His hands are trembling_ , she realized. Giggling softly, she nodded. “Forgive me.”

Sighing, he clenched his jaw several times before speaking. “I cannot give you half of what you deserve, lass, but I can keep you safe. I’ll use that buggering title to take you away from here and make sure no ever hurts you again. Be my wife, Sansa. What say you?”

Sansa gazed into his dark gray eyes, taken aback by the deep intense longing she saw gleaming there.  She knew he wanted her to accept him; but did he want their marriage to come about solely because he saw it as just another duty as her sworn shield and the only means he had of protecting her?

Raising her hand to his cheek, she uncertainly frowned. “But, Sandor, do you-?“

Smirking, he lowered his face to hers. “Do I _what_?” Anger grated his voice and fell harshly on her ears. “Do I think the queen will agree to this bloody hare-brained idea? Do I think she’ll turn over a prize such as you to the scarred second son of a minor house over one of her pretty lords and their coin?”

“No, Sandor,” she whispered, drawing his face closer still. “Please, you misunderstand me. I care not about any of that. I only want to know-that is to say, do you, or could you learn to-?“

Sansa could not bring herself to ask. Casting her gaze downward, hot tears pearled in her eyes.

“Love you?” He finished for her, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through the length of her hair. “Bloody hells, woman, I have ever since that day on the serpentine. Why the fuck do you think I offered to take you back to Winterfell? Silly little bird, how could you doubt it after all this time?”

“Sandor, you  loved me this entire time?” Sansa asked, her eyes growing large. She had never dared hope she would hear those words from him. Throwing her arms around him, she squeezed him close and laughed as the tears fell from her eyes.

“Yes,” he rasped quietly into her hair.

Clinging to him, Sansa buried her face in his neck. “I have loved you and only you, Sandor,” her muffled voice whispered to him. “Yes, I will wed you. I would love to be your wife.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, his mouth twitched into a half smile as he held her close. “Alright, enough with that; your septa would turn over in her grave to see you now.” He teased, not ungently.

Laughing, she drew out his handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed her cheeks.

“You ought to look a man in the eyes when you accept his troth,” Sandor growled softly, tipping her chin up to meet his heated gaze. “Tell me truly.”

Shyly looking up through lowered lashes, she smiled at him. “I love you, Sandor Clegane. I accept your offer of marriage.”

At her words Sandor drew a deep breath, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smile. “It’s settled then-at least for now. Your brother said if you were agreeable, he would take my offer to the queen.”

Bewildered, Sansa stared at him expectantly. _Jon did not give them permission to wed? He allowed Sandor to ask for her hand without any reassurance of actually being able to marry her?_ Knowing Sandor persisted in asking for her hand under such circumstances touched her deeply. Sansa’s cheeks reddened in anger at Jon’s behavior but still she remained silent and waited for Sandor to finish.

His dark gray eyes turned serious, his tone grave. “Don’t get your hopes up, little bird. Even with your brother on our side, I have no reason to expect her to accept our betrothal. I have nothing to offer you but my sword. Sniffing, he added, “That’s a damn sight less that she wants to gain from a match you make, I’ll wager, judging by all the buggering high lords swarming around you at court lately. Like bees to honey, they are.”

Sansa knew that much was true, and his blunt honesty sent a chill through her body. There had been a steady stream of suitors appearing from all over the Seven Kingdoms; Sansa did not seek their attentions and rebuffed the more persistent of them. Daenerys had not pressed her to accept their gifts and offers, though she knew eventually she would be expected to choose one of them.

“I know.” For a while they held each other in silence, savoring the closeness. Fear curled in Sansa’s stomach and she snuggled closer to him.

“I may have to steal you away yet.” Sandor raised his hand to the back of her head and gently stroked her hair.

Smiling against his chest, she nodded while burying her face into his tunic. “I will go willingly. Sandor?”

“Hmm?” He murmured into the crown of her head.

“I-I have some thing I wish to ask of you.”

“Well, out with it,” he said when she hesitated.

“I want us both to go to Jon and the queen, together. Please, I know it goes against convention but I wish to speak to them with you.”

Sandor chuckled darkly. “And what good do you think that will do us, lass?”

She knew the last thing he wanted was to hear her chirp her hopes for what might be. “Honestly, I do not know if it will do any good at all but I wish to go with you just the same.”

“Why do it at all?” He scowled, his sour tone echoing bitterly in her ears. “I hope you’ve learned by now that kings and queens do whatever suits their needs and fuck the rest. Family or not, Daenerys is no different.”

Cupping his cheek, she tilted his face down and stared into his eyes. “Please understand that I-I was not thinking of it on those terms, Sandor. I desire to speak directly to them on the matter rather than have my wishes conveyed through you so there is no doubt as to my feelings.”

“What would you tell them?” He scoffed. Suddenly angry, he moved away from her. “That you’re ready to throw away all your Stark influence in the north to marry the second son of a minor house? That you can’t stay in this buggering place another minute? Will you tell them that you want to put yourself first for once in your young life?”

Bristling, she replied, "Yes, all of those things but I would not use those words."

Sandor snorted, shaking his head. “After you allowed them to return you to your former cage-out of family, duty or honor or whatever the fuck it is you Starks hold onto-how can you still believe it matters to them what you bloody well want for yourself?”

His words brought bitter tears to her eyes. Sadly she regarded his demeanor. _He is afraid he will lose me._ “You really don’t know, do you? Come,” she said. Ignoring his sardonic look, she took him by the hand and led him over to the vast bough of the weirwood. “Sit, please.”

Heaving a great sigh, Sandor finally settled himself on the great white limb and folded his arms. “So now the little bird is giving orders to the dog, is that the way of it?”

“You are not a dog.” She sensed his restlessness but did not let it hinder her. To his great surprise, Sansa moved in front of him and sat down on his knee, as proper and ladylike as if she were at court and not in the middle of the godswood on her sworn shield’s lap.

“Not very proper of you,” he teased. “What if someone sees us?”

“What if they do?” Tentatively she ran her hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest before wrapping her arms around him. The intensity of his gaze seared through her as he settled his hands on her waist.

Blushing, Sansa smiled softly as their eyes met.  “Sandor, it is true that I relented to Jon and Daenerys' will for the sake of duty to my family, but I am to be your _wife_. _You_ are my family now.”

Sansa’s voice was strong and determined, reminding Sandor that there is a wolf inside his little bird. Sighing, he averted his eyes, too overwhelmed to speak.

Caressing his face, she continued, “I will not sacrifice you for the sake of anyone or anything else. I will never allow myself to be parted from you-you must believe that.”

Sandor’s eyes turned oddly glassy. He pursed his lips together, clenching his jaw before he replied low, “I want to believe you, lass, but what I think your family will decide for you is another matter entirely.”

“It is out of Jon and Daenerys’ hands now," Sansa stressed. “They will decide nothing _for_ me, and only resolve their response to my choice now.”

Amused, Sandor chuckled darkly. “And how do you figure?” Slowly he lifted his chin and allowed his gaze to travel from her throat, up to her face and then into her eyes. Sansa watched the stormy uneasy countenance of his face dissolve into a warmer, softer expression.

"Look at me, please,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “Once you told me you loved me and wanted me as your wife, it was my decision alone whether or not to accept you. Sandor, you are my love.  I belong to you and you alone. You will be my husband. I do not care if we have to spend our lives in Dorne or Tyrosh or at the Wall, I will be your wife. Nothing they say or do will change that.”

“Sansa,” he rasped low, leaning his forehead against her own. “You would choose to be disgraced? To live a life of poverty? Think on it, now. The queen may strip me of everything. Without a bloody title, where will that leave you? You were not meant for the life of smallfolk. You would come to loath me for it.” Sandor's voice was unyielding, reminding Sansa of the sound in the forge at Winterfell when Mikken molded hot steel against the cold granite anvil.

A strong gust carried through the godswood and showered them with red leaves. “Those are your words and your fears, not mine,” she answered firmly. “I never said I need you to be a lord before I would marry you, or that I even want the life of a highborn.”

Standing up, she took both of his hands in hers. “I will hear no more of such talk, Sandor Clegane. Have you learned nothing about me from our travels? It is true; I may look the proper lady but I am also one accustomed to hardship-or have you forgotten?”

Sandor’s eye’s twinkled as he shook his head. “Aye, you are at that. You slept on the ground and caught many of our dinners the whole way north-never peeped once about it, either. Wore men’s breeches and vest the entire time, too.” Laughing low, he added, “You lost your comb and mirror along the way, remember? By the time we reached Winterfell, you looked like a wildling from the Haunted Forest.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Sansa laughed. “My clothes were little more than rags and furs by then and my hair-it looked worse than Osha’s that day! It took poor Jenny two days to get out the knots."

"I can still see the look of surprise on the little she-wolf's face as we came through the gate." Sandor crowed, the rough sound resounding through the trees.

Sansa giggled. "I dare say Arya prefers me that way to how I am now. She tried so hard to convince me to keep wearing breeches.” Turning serious, she gently traced her fingers over the gnarled side of his face, and his arms reached around her once more in response.

“I do not care if Jon or the queen takes everything away from the both of us." Sansa smiled mischievously at him. Removing a red leaf from his cloak, she twisted it by the stem. “We will wed in the woods, then.”

“The woods?” Interested, he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yes. I will fashion my wedded gown from weirwood leaves and tie my hair with the yellow autumn grass of your sigil. I'll be your forest lass and you will be my forest love," she leaned in and kissed him soundly. "And for once in our lives, Sandor, we will know happiness.”

"That’s enough of your chirping, little bird." His serious expression was undercut in a moment by the small smile pulling the burned side of his mouth. "Come on lass, we'd best go speak to your brother and the queen."


	4. Sansa's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She is not meant for a man as low born as Clegane, for all his bravery. Several noble houses have expressed interested in securing an alliance through her marriage and she would have her choice of lords in the Seven kingdoms.”
> 
> “As long as it is truly her choice, and not the will of another imposed upon her.” Jon frowned, folding his arms. “Sansa is very devoted to us and I would not abuse her giving nature, nor will I compel her into agreeing to a so-called advantageous alliance by appealing to her sense of family duty.”

* * *

Inside the Tower of the Hand, Queen Daenerys and Jon spent the remainder of the afternoon in council. “What news of the state of the castles, Ser Barristan?”

“My queen, considering the heated battles fought around Hightower, the Eyrie, the Pyke and Riverrun, they are all in excellent condition. However, Harrenhal-“

“Will never be raised again,” Daenerys finished in a voice at once soft and decidedly icy. “As was Aegon’s wish. I will tear it down and sell it piece by piece until not a stone is left.  I will have the names of such places eradicated from record. I will forbid anyone from speaking their former names. The profit will be used to pay restitution to those who were imprisoned and tortured at the hands of Vargo Hoat, Gregor Clegane, Petyr Baelish and others.”

“As you wish. There is also the matter of Casterly Rock that needs addressing, my queen.”

“Yes, let us speak of the family seat of House Lannister, or what little remains of it,” Daenerys assented, her voice tinged with anger. “I will tear down that castle as well, but I will provide compensation to Princess Myrcella, who has been indispensable in winning over Dorne and the Free Cities.”

“What of Dragonstone?”

“I am torn, I must say. If not for Gendry, Arya, Shireen and Lord Rickon, I would see the Usurper's seat of Dragonstone end up as Harrenhal and Casterly Rock. But Gendry is blood of my blood, as is sweet Shireen, and both of them wed into Jon’s Stark family-I cannot take away their family seat.”

“What would you do with the castles, then?” Jon asked quietly.

The queen hesitated. “I believe I will use the resources from Casterly Rock as restitution for the surviving Stark's suffering at the hands of Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin Lannister; the rest will be paid to Myrcella and her children.”

Ser Barristan bowed low. “Very good, my queen. I will see to it at once.”

Jon frowned as he looked at the map of the Seven kingdoms spread before them. “What of Winterfell and Castle Black?”

“As per your command, both are near fully repaired, Your Grace.”

“Excellent, Ser Barristan. You will be well rewarded for your efforts. However, I will not have my nephew’s family seat in disrepair any longer than necessary. What is needed to finish the projects?”

“There is enough in the treasury, my queen. Castle Black is near complete; however Winterfell is in need of skilled tradesman to fully restore the granite as well as plenty of manpower for the labor.”

“Ser Barristan, see to it that the vassal houses surrounding both castles make every male over the age of five and ten available for the work. Send word to Ser Jorah to dispatch enough tradesman, smiths, blacksmiths, stonemasons and any others as need be. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my queen, right away.” The knight bowed low.

“I also will require a full update as each project is completed. Lady Sansa has waited long enough to return home. Having been removed from my own homeland as a child, I have a unique understanding of her sorrows-it is not to be born.”

“I could not agree more,” Jon concurred. “ Have you word on the other project I mentioned?”

“Indeed. The surveyors made their evaluations and received approval from House Stark. Lord Rickon sent this to you as of this morning, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan stepped forward and presented Jon with rolled parchment sealed with the Stark direwolf.

Daenerys cast a questioning glance toward Jon and then asked, “What of Greywater Watch? The Reeds were most loyal to my nephews.”

“The castle is in fine condition, my queen, as the surrounding landscape is most difficult to navigate. During the war, the armies were afraid to attempt sacking it, considering Lord Howland and Jojen’s abilities are widely known in the Seven kingdoms.”

“I would hope so,” Daenerys answered dryly. “Jojen even managed to communicate with my dragons and led us to Bran and Rickon, remember?”

“Yes, that was quite a day.” Jon nodded with a grin.

“I am quite finished. Is there anything else you wish to inquire of Ser Barristan, Jon?”

The young man struggled to keep his voice carefully disinterested. “Yes; what of Clegane Keep?”

Daenerys silently regarded him. “Yes, the condition of the seat of my dear niece’s sword shield is cause for concern.”

Ser Barristan glanced between them. “My Lord, Clegane Keep just one of many uninhabitable seats throughout Westeros. Regretfully it has been sacked, burned out and laid to ruin by Ser Gregor himself, war, inclement weather and derelicts of all descriptions. I fear Sandor Clegane will never receive his proper inheritance.”

“That will not do, Ser Barristan,” Jon replied gravely. “The man looked after Sansa, advised her and went against the King to rescue her when she was among the lions at great personal risk. Sandor returned her home to us and kept her safe; he keeps her safe still.”

The queen arose from her dais. “Show me the location of Clegane Keep on the map, dear Jon.”

Jon ran his finger to the left of King’s Landing on the map before tapping on the corresponding location. “It is here, my queen, southeast of Casterly Rock and Lannisport squarely in the middle of the Westerlands.”

“That is not an advantageous location for a keep befitting the loyal, brave and noble protector of my niece. He should have a keep to the north. I wonder if Sandor Clegane would consider giving up his land in favor of a small castle in a more strategic part of the kingdom. Do either of you have any idea what his thoughts may be on the matter?

“Regrettably I do not,” answered Jon.

“My queen, I have known the man since he was five and ten, and I can say with a certainty that he holds no affection for his family seat. His father, mother and sister all died there when he was quite young. I do not think he would be opposed to changing location in favor of a small castle of his very own.”

Shaking her head, the queen sighed sadly. “Must all of us have a tragic past? Is there not one among us with a happy childhood?  I am almost afraid to ask: what happened to his family?”

“He will not speak of it. Sansa has hinted they were killed at the hands of Gregor sometime after he burned Sandor, when he was a lad of six,” Jon offered solemnly.

“A babe of six is more like it,” Daenerys closed her eyes. “Well, we will make it right for Lord Clegane as best as we are able, gods be good. I will make him an offer for another keep. Depending on his response, Ser Barristan, we will dispatch builders at once. I wish to have the new keep finished as soon as may be. What say you to that idea, Jon?”

“It is most agreeable and I am sure Sansa will be delighted. Might I inquire the reason for this extraordinary act of generosity?” Jon asked thoughtfully.

“Sandor Clegane served the Seven kingdoms with one of the finest deed of bravery and valor the realm has ever known. Agaisnt all odds he offered himself up to end that monstrosity that was his brother, the so-called Ser Robert Strong. He fought harder than any man I have ever seen and dealt the death blow after Jaime Lannister fell, gods rest his soul,” The queen responded, her last words coming out little more than a whisper.

“His dying word to Sandor and me was, ‘I fought for her, and for the Starks. Tell Clegane to finish it, for Sansa’s sake.’ ” Jon remembered aloud. “He never got over what Joffrey and Tywin put her through.”

“Lady Brienne and I have talked at length about how pained his was by their behavior, and relieved at learning Sandor came to Sansa’s aid and returned her north. What say you, nephew?”

”A fine idea, aunt, very fine indeed. I am certain Ser Jaime would have wanted Sandor Clegane to have a family seat worthy of his character and bravery.  I am sure he would not object to using Lannister means to accomplish such a project.”

“Perhaps it will enable Lord Clegane to take a wife. Despite of his gruff manner, it is only natural that he should long for family of his own. He cannot follow Sansa around for the rest of his days; do you not agree?” The queen tipped her head, her lilac eyes glittering at the idea of Sansa’s fearsome, abrasive sworn shield a wedded man surrounded by a passel of children.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I have reason to believe Sandor Clegane wishes both to follow my sister for the rest of his days and have a family of his own.”

Gasping, Daenerys leaned in closer to her nephew. “Really? Do tell.”

“He came to me earlier today and asked for Sansa’s hand in marriage. He wishes to take her north with him as his lady wife.”

Clearing his throat, Ser Barristan bit back a smile. “Please excuse me, my queen, but if nothing more is required of me I wish to take my leave, as I believe this is a private family matter.”

Stunned, Daenerys nodded and waved him away. ”Sandor Clegane is in love with Sansa?” After several moments, she said, “While I am very surprised, it is understandable. Your sister is sweet and kind, and grows more beautiful every day. I've noticed how the lords all flock to her.”

“Yes, Sansa is beautiful to be sure, both inside and out.” Jon knelt down beside the queen. “You should know that I gave him leave to approach her. As her brother, I will not permit anyone to wed her off without her consent and I would hope that since she is your niece, you feel the same.”

“Certainly, Jon. You are a loving and devoted brother indeed,” Daenerys began slowly. “But dearest, you must admit that she is not meant for a man as low born as Clegane, for all his bravery. Several noble houses have expressed interested in securing an alliance through her marriage and she would have her choice of lords in the Seven kingdoms.”

“As long as it is _truly_ her choice, and not the will of another imposed upon her.” Jon frowned, folding his arms. “Sansa is very devoted to us and I would not abuse her giving nature, nor will I compel her into agreeing to a so-called advantageous alliance by appealing to her sense of family duty. As far as I’m concerned, Sansa can marry Hot Pie, if she likes; I just want her to be happy. She deserves to know true love and happiness in her family life.”

“I understand your feelings, I do, but I need Sansa’s help, Jon, especially with the rebuilding of the north. Wedding her to one of the noble houses would go far to accomplish gaining the goodwill of the people.”

“I am most surprised to hear you say such, given the way Viserys veritably sold you to Khal Drogo,” Jon angrily retorted. “You were most fortunate to have found love and a good husband in him. In fact, by your own account, he and Sandor Clegane are not so very different.”

Drawing a deep breath, Daenerys glared at him. “In what ways do you believe Drogo and Lord Clegane alike?”

“Khal Drogo and Sandor both have unmatched loyalty and are renowned for their ferocity on the battlefield; their very names have the ability to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. Both men have fought to the death to protect the women they love and are uncommonly devoted.”

Jon watches his aunt’s expression slowly soften. “Yes, that is true. I also noticed that, like Drogo, Sandor Clegane initially comes across quite rough and ill-mannered, but is in fact quite gentle toward those he cares for-well, with Sansa, anyway.”

Smiling, Jon nods. “I have known for quite some time that Sansa is deeply in love with him. I would never ask my sister to give him up after she has lost so many, nor would I arrange any marriage for her. You are a most generous and fair queen, aunt, and it is not for me to tell you how to handle Sansa’s affairs. However, should you deny her happiness in favor of political advantage, it will forever separate me from you.”

“You cannot force my hand, Jon, but I will grant you this: I will hear your sister’s feelings on the matter, woman to woman. If I am convinced she truly loves Lord Clegane and is determined to take him as her husband, then I will certainly honor her wishes-though I hope you appreciate in doing so I am squandering a valuable advantage.”

“My sister is her own person now; I cannot ask her to go back to the way things were when she was held here by the Lannisters, nor will I. She deserves to enjoy her freedom; otherwise what is the point of having brought her back to the Red Keep?”

“Of course she does, Jon.” Daenerys anxiously smoothed down her skirts. “I brought her here because I care for her and value her opinions and insights. Pray forgive me; at times I find myself getting caught up in the political jousting of court life. I fear Lord Varys is encouraging it.” Folding her hands, the queen stared into her lap. “If I were to insist on Sansa marrying anyone she does not love, then I will have lost my way for certain. I appreciate that you brought it to my attention-I do not wish to become that type of ruler.”

“I know that very well, aunt. Do not take it too hard-such is a common trapping of power, I suppose,” Jon offered, taking her hand and kissing it tenderly.

“I suppose,” Daenerys sheepishly grinned at him. “Do not fret on Sansa’s account. I love her as my own sister, and rest assured I will be fair.”

Ser Barristan opened the door. “Your Grace’s sister, the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark, accompanied by Lord Sandor Clegane,  requests an audience with you, my queen.”

“Just the pair I wish to see!” Daenerys smiles at Jon. “They certainly waste no time; let us hear them out. Please escort them in, Ser Barristan.”


	5. A Glimmer of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This-this is the song you have wanted from me?” She asked dazedly. The words hardly left her when she felt Sandor press his tongue to her mouth and nibble softly at her bottom lip.
> 
> “Aye, and I mean to have a much sweeter one from you on our wedded night,” he rasped before heatedly kissing her once more. She was still not sure exactly what he meant but the surge of pure want his touch awakened within her made Sansa long to find out.

* * *

Stalking the corridors of the Red Keep behind Sansa, Sandor maintained his usual menacing air while on duty with difficulty. A glimmer of hope sparked through him, though he hardly dared allow himself believe the little bird would become his wife.

Sandor knew one word of refusal from Jon or Daenerys and the tenuous hold he had on the one person he longed for would be forever severed.  The momentary joy he felt hearing her sweet words was quickly doused with fear and shrouded by the cold emptiness of pessimism. A familiar dark cynicism shadowed not far behind, haunting his thoughts like an apparition and whispering doubt from the deepest corners of his mind.

Experience taught the man from an early age not to give in to expectation. Fanciful dreams were no sooner conjured than shattered, a cruel jape of the gods at his expense. _Buggering fool, you’ll lose her yet and make no mistake; that dragon queen doesn’t give a fuck about what you want._

The sound of Sansa’s soft laughter drew Sandor out of his morbid thoughts. Taking him by the hand, she drew him into a dim alcove with a shy smile.

“You have the look of a man sentenced to the Black Cells, not one who is about to marry,” Sansa teased as she leaned against his chest, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. “I know that look on your face. As long as I have known you, you have been moody and hardly ever allow yourself to give in to the enjoyment of the moment.” Cupping his cheek, she whispered, “You must learn to trust my love for you, and that I will not leave you. It will come in time.”

Sandor leaned against the latticed bay casement and brought himself on eye level with her. “Reading my thoughts now, are you?”

“You are not so very complicated. I have yet to see the opponent you fear in battle, and yet you dread losing what you care about like the worst of the seven hells. I saw it in your eyes the day you kept me from pushing Joffrey from the parapet. I have seen it many times since then.”

“Aye.” He reluctantly agreed.

“Sandor, look into my eyes,” she said quietly as she tenderly ran her fingers over the rivulets of his scarred side. “I love you, and I will keep saying it until you feel it inside, until you believe it in here.” She said, pressing her hand over his heart. “You will not lose me, I swear it.”

Her words went straight to his heart and formed a dull ache as Sandor stared down at her. Slowly he guided her closer until she stood in between his legs. Staring into her eyes, he ran his large hands over her waist and settled them on the swell of her hips. “I believe you, lass, I do.”

Sansa brought his hands up to her lips, kissing each of them. “If things do not go as we wish, I am ready to leave with you, tonight.”

“Not betrothed an hour and already planning to run away with me?” He teased lightly, his voice betraying the swell of doubt surfacing within him. “What would your septa say?”

“I am a woman grown, I no longer need the teachings of a septa.” Standing on her toes, Sansa turned her face up to kiss him. “I am thinking ahead, just as you taught me. You have always said that you will take me from here, that I only need say the word.”

“I meant it, believe that,” he said, gazing into her beautiful and determined blue eyes. He saw the color rise in her cheeks at his words.

She swallowed hard. “I am saying it now.”

Pulling her close in his arms, Sandor stroked her chin between his calloused fingers. “Little bird,” he rasped low. “Should we leave this place, we most like will not be able to wed for a while. There won’t be a sept or godswood for miles, you know.”

“The gods brought us together and blessed us with love.” Sansa declared, nuzzling closer and kissing the tender flesh of his neck. “We are already joined in heart, Sandor; that is all that matters.”

Sandor’s shoulders shook with ill suppressed laughter. “The little bird is singing a different song. Once what you’re suggesting now would have been unthinkable to you, lass.”

“I have learned from my own experiences. I dare say just because a septon willingly weds for coin does not make for a true marriage in the eyes of the gods, nor is there reason to believe the gods, old or new, only hear the vows of those truly devoted to one another within a sept or a godswood.”

Raising his brow, he studied her face carefully. “Might be you’re right at that.”

Sansa reiterated her words. “My love, I meant what I said earlier: I will gladly wed you in the forest if need be. We will say our vows and the trees will stand as our witnesses. I am certain the gods will hear us, as will Father.”

“Truly?” Sandor asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Yes, truly.”

“Then bugger them all, Little bird,” he growled softly as he tenderly brushed her lips against his own, savoring the soft feel of her mouth before ardently kissing her.

Sansa’s legs buckled beneath her, and she felt his strong arms tightly wrapping around her, pulling her body flush with his. His heavily muscled body flexed and molded to hers, at once warm and powerful and arousing in ways Sansa never knew possible. A small whimper escaped her lips; she felt both caught in the current of his desire for her and overwhelmed by her own longing for him.

Sandor’s rough laughter vibrated in his chest and echoed through her own. “The little bird is just beginning to sing for me at long last,” He murmured against her lips, and deepened their embrace by massaging her hips with his large hands.

“This-this is the song you have wanted from me?” She asked dazedly. The words hardly left her when she felt Sandor press his tongue to her mouth and nibble softly at her bottom lip.

“Aye, and I mean to have a much sweeter one from you on our wedded night,” he rasped before heatedly kissing her once more. She was still not sure exactly what he meant but the surge of pure want his touch awakened within her made Sansa long to find out.

“Sandor,” she sighed. “I will sing it for you gladly.” Tentatively she dipped her hand into the collar of his tunic and gently ran her nails over the nape of his neck.

Sandor moaned against her mouth before lowering his hand to her bottom and bringing her thighs firmly against his hardened manhood. “Gods but you feel good, woman.” Sansa heard him say, his hot breath falling fast on her neck.

Drawing a deep breath, he reluctantly pulled away and regarded her. Sansa’s creamy skin was flushed a pretty shade of pink in the late afternoon light. Her eyes were darkened to a deep sapphire with unmistakable lust and never did she look more beautiful to Sandor than she did at that very moment.

“We best not keep this up, Little bird. Come now, we’d better be on our way. Take you to the queen before l end up taking you here and now.” He chuckled, adjusting his clothing and light armor.

“Yes, I think it is for the best, my love.” Sansa giggled while tucking her hair into place and smoothing down her skirts. Looping her arm through his, she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “It is not fitting for you to walk behind me in such a way. I will not allow it, for you are both my betrothed and my sword shield now.”

“Again with the chirping,” he ruefully growled, shaking his head.

“You didn’t mind my singing a moment ago.” Sansa answered with a mischievous smile.

His gray eyes glittered as he stared down at her, and Sansa felt the intensity of his gaze burning through her. She could not look away from him, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver of pleasure through her. “Singing and chirping are two very different things, my little bird, and I mean to teach you the difference.”

Sansa blushed clear down to the neckline of her gown. Grinning wickedly, Sandor turned and rapped on the Tower door, moving behind Sansa in the usual manner.

Ser Barristan chuckled as he laid eyes on the couple. “My Lady Sansa, Lord Clegane; I will inform the queen of your presence at once. Please wait here.”

“Thank you Ser Barristan,” Sansa smiled politely, casting a confused glance at Sandor.

After a moment the knight returned. “Please come in, my lady, my lord. The queen and the prince are eager to see you. This way please.”

“Fuck,” Sansa heard Sandor swear under his breath.

Ignoring him, she gave Ser Barristan a winning smile. “Thank you, Ser Barristan you are most kind.”

“Sansa, Sandor Clegane, do come in and take your ease,” Jon called out, pulling out a chair for his sister beside him.

“Dearest, I was just telling Jon that I wished to speak to you, and here you are,” Daenerys smiled softly at Sansa before curiously glancing between the couple. “Please, the both of you, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you, my queen,” Sansa smiled and then cautiously cast a furtive glance up at Sandor.

“I prefer to stand, Your Grace,” Sandor rasped low. “I’m on duty.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Daenerys laughed. “You do take your work most seriously.”

Sandor did not know what to make of her jest and so he merely grunted in response.

“Lord Clegane, allow me to free you of your obligation for a time. I am sure my sister is most safe at present.”

“As it pleases you, Your Grace,” Sandor assented, warily lowering himself into the chair next to Sansa.

“You both look as guilty as Viserion when he returns from raiding the sheep pastures,” Daenerys needled the couple. “Is there something you wish to share with the rest of the family?”

“My queen, as a matter of fact there is,” Sansa began, only to be quickly interrupted by Sandor.

“With Prince Jon’s permission, I’ve asked for Lady Sansa’s hand in marriage and she accepted. I mean to take her north with me as my lady wife.” Sandor said tersely, his knuckles white from forcefully gripping the hilt of his katar. After a moment’s pause, he added, “We would ask for each of your blessings as Sansa’s relations and as rulers on the Iron throne, respectively.”

“I see.” Daenerys frostily replied. She raised her eyebrow and looked at Jon.

He studied her carefully before asking, “Do you wish to wed Lord Clegane, sister? I must be certain of your happiness with the match before granting consent."

Sansa reached out for Sandor’s hand. "Yes brother, I love him with all my heart. We have been through much together and he understands me like no other. Sandor is most loyal and has always told me the truth. No matter what the situation, he is the only one who has consistently dealt with me in an honorable manner. I do not wish to ever be parted from him.”  Her voiced quivered as she spoke.

Jon noticed her palpable fear and discerned it originated from fear of her betrothal being denied. “Sansa please, do not fret. We only need ask a few questions.”

Daenerys nodded. “You may find it difficult to believe, but I do understand your attachment, dear niece. He has kept you safe and is sort of a knight in shining armor to you-a hero that you admire.” The queen leaned forward and placed her hand on Sansa’s arm. “I only think of your happiness, Sansa. Do you believe you can truly be happy with Lord Clegane? Are you convinced you will be happier with him than with any other man in the kingdom?”

Sandor indignantly pushed back away from the table, sputtering in fury. “Why don’t you bloody well say what you mean? You think she’s only willing to marry me because she feels obligated after all I’ve done for her, is that the way of it? Throw the old dog a bone?”

“Sandor, please-“ Sansa fretted, placing her hand on his arm.

“Please nothing, Sansa. Fuck, she thinks you aren’t good enough for a scarred dog!" Turning to Daenerys, he snarled, "I’m bloody well good enough to slay your undead enemies, even sent my own thrice damned brother to the seven hells for you, but not good enough to take into the family. You highborns are all alike, the lot of you.”

“Are you quite finished putting words in my mouth?” Daenerys asked icily, her eyes glittering with anger. “Rest assured, if I did not place a great deal of worth and consideration on you, Lord Clegane, you would not be speaking to me in such a manner for long.”

“Go ahead and feed me to one of your fucking dragons for all I care!” Sandor bit back, standing up so fast he knocked over his chair. "At least I'm not afraid to speak the truth."

Ser Barristan opened the door. “Is everything quite all right, my queen?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said quietly. “Just a minor disagreement. You may go.”

Frowning at the queen and Sandor, Jon then anxiously glanced at his sister. The color had drained from Sansa’s face as her tears slowly fell down her cheeks. Twisting her handkerchief fretfully, her face transformed into a mask of sadness as she watched the exchange between the queen and Sandor, an expression Jon had not seen for a very long time.

 _Poor thing, she’s frightened that she will lose the man she loves._ “Enough of this, the both of you. Do you not care that you are upsetting my sister? This is not the way family behaves toward one another.” Kneeling down beside Sansa, he took her hand. “Sansa, please, calm yourself. It will be alright, you have my word."

Daenerys whipped around to face him but before she could speak, Jon turned to her and said, “Dear aunt, the man is clearly overcome by the strain of the situation. In my experience many men would consider facing one of your dragons on the battlefield a far less formidable prospect than asking the family of the woman he loves for her hand in marriage.”

Sighing, the queen slowly nodded in agreement. “Yes, I have noticed such in men before.”

Jon then addressed Sandor. “Tell us truly, do you love Sansa, Lord Clegane?”

Sandor’s jaw tightly clenched while his brow furrowed in anger. After a moment, he answered low, “Aye, I love your sister, Sansa; in truth she is the only one I have loved in my entire life. I'll be good to her, I swear it."

Jon watched Sansa’s face transform at hearing Sandor’s words. "And you?"

Smiling broadly, she gently squeezed Sandor's forearm. “I love him with all my heart. As much as I care for the both of you, I will be his wife, no matter the consequence. Please understand that I do not wish to hurt either of you by my choice but I must listen to my heart. Your blessing would allow us to truly be happy.”

A rush of emotion washed over the man at hearing her words, producing hot tears in the corners of his eyes. Fingering the handle of his knife, he stared downward and cleared his throat. "Yes, Sansa speaks truly. We would ask for your blessing on our union.”

Jon barely restrained his amusement at hearing the ferocious Hound nervously pledge his troth in such an awkward manner. Turning to Sansa, Jon gently took hold of her hands. "Sis, you know I have always believed you should wed whomever you wish. You have had far too much unhappiness in your life. If marrying Lord Clegane will make you happy, then I would gladly give you my blessing."

The queen rose to her feet. “Since the two of you _men_   have spoken your peace, I believe it is my turn to have my say. I will not consent to this marriage until Sansa and I have spoken woman to woman-alone.”


	6. Convincing the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please believe me, dearest Sansa, that after my experience with Viserys, I do understand wanting to use marriage as a way to accomplish leaving a difficult family situation. My withholding approval of your betrothal to Lord Clegane stems from my impression that is why you wish to accept his proposal, as a means of leaving the Red Keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Prefiera_de_Gryfalco for catching my critical canon mistake, I really appreciate you bringing it to my attention. :D

* * *

Daenerys held out her hand to Sansa with a warm smile, understanding her niece was quite troubled by the exchange. “Come dearest, let us go for a walk and discuss matters woman to woman, shall we?”

Sansa uncertainly glanced between her brother and betrothed as she slowly rose to her feet and took the queen’s hand. “Certainly, Queen Daenerys, it would be my honor.”

Sandor quickly stood up to follow, causing Jon to reach across his body and shake his head in response.

Jerking away from the young prince with a scowl, Sandor asked, “Do you wish for Lady Sansa to be escorted, Your Grace?”

Turning, Daenerys raised her eyebrow at him. “Ser Barristan will do it, Lord Clegane, thank you.”

“I am Lady Sansa’s sworn shield, not Ser Barristan.” Sandor rasped archly through gritted teeth.

“Indeed you are. However, Ser Barristan seems to be the only man in this room wise enough to know when to hold his tongue at present.” She smiled softly at the older knight.

Ser Barristan grinned back at her. “Years of experience have taught me well, my queen.”

“And I am most grateful. Lord Clegane, Jon, you men are welcome to follow at a distance so long as you are both able to remain silent, is that understood?”

“Of course, Aunt,” Jon agreed solemnly before clearing his throat and staring pointedly at Sandor.

“Yes, Your Grace, as you wish,” Sandor bowed to her and then cast a devilish smile at Sansa, who beamed approvingly at him in return.

Daenerys watched the uncharacteristic exchange between the heavily muscled, ill-mannered warrior and her delicate, polite niece with interest.

“We shall retire to the throne room, men. I have business to attend there and taking a turn together will be most refreshing. What say you, Sansa?” The queen smiled at the surprised young woman and took her by the arm.

“Yes that would be most pleasant, my queen.”

“Referring to me in such a way is not necessary when it is just the family present, dearest. Such formality does little to add to the warmth of family intercourse, would you not agree?”

Sansa could not help but laugh. “Very true, indeed.”

“Let it be that you call me Daenerys, or aunt, if you wish. You are blood of my blood, cousin to Jon. However, we do not have a word for cousin in Valyrian, so I am happy to extend the term aunt to you and your siblings as well, Sansa.”

“How very kind, I will address you as such gladly.”

Daenerys turned and glanced behind her at Jon and Sandor and almost laughed out loud at the men’s chastened expressions. “Look at them, sulking behind us like the two scolded boys they are. I fear the two of them could hardly have misunderstood me more if I had been speaking Dothraki.”

“After interrupting you, they were in need of a good admonishment, I would say.” Sansa’s eyes twinkled with amusement, much to the queen’s relief. “You must forgive Jon; my brother was not taught the proper etiquette of court life.”

“I would imagine not,” Daenerys concurred. “Lord Clegane is not quite housebroken, either, despite his sigil.”

Behind them Sandor snorted loudly, earning a sharp glare from Ser Barristan.

Turning once more, Sansa nervously observed her betrothed, who quickly sobered up under her somber gaze. “Sandor, well, truth be told, he has an intense dislike of anything having to do with court life. It is nothing personal, I assure you. For all his grumbling he thinks quite highly of you, I am certain. He is by far more respectful to you than any other ruler, excepting Robert.” Sansa paused, trying to gauge the queen’s response to the information.

Daenerys nodded, deep in thought. “It served him well, and preserved his life. I would hardly fault him for that, though I can certainly understand that he would feel such after serving the Usurper and his family for so long.”

“Indeed. Such association from a young age taught him that playing the game of thrones is fraught with deceitfulness and pretext, and those who succeed are also the best liars. After all,  forgive me my queen but Rhaegar is the one knighted his brother Gregor-" Wincing, Sansa bit her tongue.

"And he subsequently killed my niece and nephew, yes."

“An unprecedented, monstrous atrocity to the kingdom, and your family.”

Daenerys nodded gravely.

Sansa shrugged. “I understand Sandor reaching such a conclusion, for I learned that soon enough when I was first brought here, and my love spent far more years among the Lannisters than I.”

Sandor coughed behind them but Sansa and Daenerys ignored him as they continued toward the throne room. “Sansa, let us speak plainly as women: I know what it is to marry to help advance your family interests. I believe you are familiar with the happenings surrounding my marriage, that my brother sold me to gain the allegiance and strength of Khal Drogo’s khalasar?”

“Yes, Jon told me of it. I hope that does not upset you.”

The queen glanced behind her at her nephew. “No indeed, for there are no secrets in our family, nor would I want there to be.” Daenerys reverently touched each of the bells in her long braid. “Viserys learned soon enough it was all for naught. Drogo had no intention of giving him anything, nor should he have expected it. My husband was very generous with me but had no use for my brother. In fact, he was very much like Lord Clegane, come to think of it.”

Sansa stopped, her eyes widening in shock. “Truly?”

“Oh, yes,” the queen laughed. “He was fearsome, very skilled in battle, commanding and considerably larger than of the other men with a true warrior’s physique, just like Lord Clegane. I was very much intimidated by him at first but soon learned the man underneath the gruff exterior. I came to love him very deeply. It is my deepest regret that our time together was cut short.”

Sansa softly said, “Yes, my queen, such a terrible pity. I am very sorry for your loss, though I am happy you knew true love with your beloved husband.”

“Yes, I was most fortunate, if even for a short time, to have been married to Drogo. As fierce and powerful a man as he was, he gave me a measure of freedom and a confidence I had never known before.”

“That is beautiful, a true gift indeed,” Sansa said, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “So few women in Westeros are so blessed, Your Grace, or I should say, Aunt Daenerys.”

The queen smiled and took Sansa’s hands in her own. “Please believe me, dearest Sansa, that after my experience with Viserys, I do understand wanting to use marriage as a way to accomplish leaving a difficult family situation.  My withholding approval of your betrothal to Lord Clegane stems from my impression that is why you wish to accept his proposal, as a means of leaving the Red Keep.”

“Forgive me but you are much mistaken, that is not the case at all,” Sansa hurriedly replied. “Though I do not deny that the presence of my family is the only appeal this place holds for me.”

“Sansa, your brother and I know you have been most unhappy here. Lord Rickon has sent ravens telling us that Bran has heard your prayers to return north through the weirwood tree in the godswood, and your brothers and I are most concerned for your well-being. We had hoped that if Jon and I made a home for you here, you would be able to overcome the terrible memories of this place that haunt you so.”

Sansa looked down sadly. “It is true; I cannot deny that has been most difficult for me to live here once more. Please be assured that it has nothing to do with either of you. I am truly grateful for all the efforts you have made to make me feel welcome and comfortable here. You both have been most generous and for a lovelier home I could not ask, my queen.”

“And you have been a lovely addition to our family and invaluable in sharing your insights and counsel. I could not have done without your knowledge of the customs and controversies of the north these past eight moons.” When they reached the throne room, Ser Barristan signaled for the members of the Queensguard to open the massive doors. Sansa swallowed hard as they moved toward the Iron throne, and the queen felt the tension in her hand when they approached the dais.

“Be that as it may, I sense you suffered most cruelly here, even to a greater degree than you have shared with your brother and me. Please, I do not mean to force a confidence. I merely wish to say that I know at times healing can only be found by removing yourself from the source of the pain. Such was the circumstance for me and leaving the great grass sea, and with it my last memories of Drogo.”

“Yes, I feel that may be true in my current situation, and Sandor’s as well. We both suffered here, most cruelly.” Sansa murmured, her voice barely audible. “But please allow me to convince you that has nothing to do with my desire to marry Sandor Clegane.”

Slowly she pulled away from the queen and stood at the base of the dais, momentarily lost in her memories. The queen watched her closely, careful not to disturb the young woman.

Through bitter tears Sansa glared up at the Iron throne. “Joffrey had me stripped and beaten here in front of the entire court, under the guise of _sending my brother a message_ ,” Sansa hesitantly whispered, sinking to her knees and running her fingers over the cold marble floor.

“Sandor stood right there,” she pointed to the step. “With each stroke from Ser Meryn I saw his anguish at witnessing my suffering rage in his eyes, a fury like no other.” Sadly, she looked up at Daenerys. “No one, not a single one of the so-called noblemen and women so much as said a word, but Sandor did. He defied Joffrey in front of them all when he called out “Enough!”

Tears slowly crept down her cheeks as she regarded the throne. The queen was taken aback by the raw pain in her niece’s lovely eyes and quickly she drew close to Sansa. “Go on, dearest.”

“He tore off his Kingsguard cloak and covered my nakedness in front of everyone assembled. Joffrey was in shock, and yet no one moved to stop Sandor; they knew it would have been suicide to interfere with the Hound. It was Sandor who truly brought me under the cloak of his protection, and only him. After that day, I never accepted the cloak of another, no matter what was arranged for me. In fact, I still have that cloak; I was surprised to find it here after all this time. Lord Varys saved it for me.”

Behind her Sansa heard a strangled roar come from Sandor’s throat followed by the sound of him swearing and noisily slamming his mailed fist against the massive iron brazier. Jon clenched his jaw in anger, shaking his head. Ser Barristan watched the enraged men warily but did not attempt to subdue either of him.

Raising her eyes, the queen watched as Jon moved away from Sandor and started to approach her, but Daenerys shook her head at him, as did Ser Barristan.

“Who are the cowards that allowed this?” The queen gently probed, kneeling beside Sansa and wrapping her arms around her. “Tell me their names, dear niece, please. I promise you they will rue the day they were brought into this world.”

“Most of them are dead now, or far from here. You have given me and my family far more justice than I ever hoped to have.” Sansa’s tears flowed freely now as the queen gently stroked her arms and hair.

“Ser Barristan, fetch me Lord Varys at once.”

“Yes, my queen,” the knight said before hurrying away.

Looking over her shoulder, she motioned for Sandor to come near, and at once he rushed toward Sansa, lifting her in his arms and whispering softly in her ear. When her tears subsided, he stroked her face and gently set her back on her feet.

“Please, aunt, let me assure you that I love Sandor so dearly, so greatly; I do not have the words to express the depth of my feelings for him. I know many would find it difficult to believe, with his unrefined ways and such but he has my heart just the same.“

“Little bird,” Sandor rasped hoarsely, pulling her tightly against his chest. “As I love you, lass.” When she finally raised her eyes to the queen once more, Sansa was stunned to see Daenerys’ cheeks wet with tears.

The queen reached out for Sansa and Sandor’s hands and gently drew them together. “Please, you must fret no longer, dearest Sansa. Of course you may marry him, with my blessing, as soon as you are ready.”

Sansa laughed out loud, and hugged and kissed Daenerys and Sandor by turns. The sound of the doors opening caused them to look up in time to see Lord Varys approaching with Ser Barristan.

The queen’s lavender eyes glittered angrily when she laid eyes on him. “Lord Varys, my niece has told me that Joffrey had her stripped and beaten in front of the noblemen at court. Were you present when this occurred?”

“No, my queen. When I received word Robb Stark had defeated Stafford Lannister, I knew the day would end in pain for Lady Sansa. Lancel Lannister concocted a spurious account that only enraged Joffrey further. The king was bent on inflicting his anger on the poor child. The only man in the Seven kingdoms able to stop that little monster was Tyrion Lannister and so I summoned him as well as his sellsword, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, to intervene on her behalf. They came just in the nick of time, too, as I recall.”

“Not bloody soon enough,” Sandor muttered from behind.

Daenerys set her jaw and nodded. “Lord Clegane speaks truly. Ser Bronn holds Stokeworth, does he not?”

“Indeed, yes.”

“As Tyrion is in Dorne, see to it that Ser Bronn, his wife and children are amply compensated for his loyalty and bravery. Pray tell, who else witnessed this atrocity?”

“I can refer to my annals and provide you with a list of names within the hour, my queen.”

“See that you do. Also, please make sure that my seamstresses and anything my niece and Lord Clegane requires for their upcoming wedding is made available to them at once.”

“I will see to it right away, Your Grace.” Lord Varys bowed low, struggling to hide his surprise. “I will have all them assembled and ready to meet with Lady Sansa and Lord Clegane as soon as they give word.”

“Excellent. Jon, summon the dragons back to the Red Keep. Any surviving noblemen and women present that day are to be immediately put to death, is that understood?  Those cowards will pay for their disloyalty and do not deserve to live to see the day dawn on Sansa and Sandor’s wedded day ceremony.”

The queen turned and found Sandor and Sansa still in each other’s arms. Putting her arm around Sansa, Daenerys smiled and kissed her cheeks. “Dearest Sansa, your brother and I will make certain nothing will mar you and Lord Clegane’s happiness. In fact, we have a surprise for you-a wedded gift if you will, that I hope will only increase your joy.”


	7. Rickon's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rickon means to ensure that Sansa will have an inheritance of her very own. Sandor, you and she may take it as the Clegane family seat, or if you prefer, Rickon will hold it in your stead for your future children. He has also offered you a wing at Winterfell for the both of you, if Sansa should wish to return there instead."

 Surprised, Sansa turned to see Sandor scowling with one eyebrow raised at the queen. "A wedded gift? For us? Already had a plan for it, did you? Bloody convenient, that."

"Yes, is that not so?" Daenerys laughed. "Come, Jon, tell your sister and future goodbrother of your idea."

Grinning, Jon settled himself beside her and took Sansa's hand. "Well, Sis, it isn't mine alone. Rickon actually thought of it. You and he are alike in many ways, you know."

Puzzled, Sansa frowned at him and slowly shook her head. _How could Jon jest at such a time and this?_ Rickon had returned to them more Wilding than Stark. She remembered how she and Arya stared at him, no longer a boy but a young man standing before them dressed in furs and skins, adorned with direwolves and the ancient Kings of Winter pierced into his flesh by Osha's tribal holy men north of the Wall.

Rickon disappeared for weeks at a time, and Shaggydog was every bit as wild as his master. Only the arrival of Davos Seaworth and Shireen seemed to settle her brother. After one look at Shireen, he fell in love with her instantly and openly in front of everyone, much to the surprise of the family.

"Maybe we are not so different after all," Sansa murmured, thinking that both she and Rickon did not let outward appearances determine the beauty of those they loved.

"Bloody unlikely, that," Sandor remarked.

His gravelly voice recalled her to the moment. "Forgive me, Jon, but as much as I love Rickon, I do not believe we are at all alike."

"But you are, Sansa! Both of you are direwolves meant to be in the wild, running over the icy moors of the north. You both are only able to flourish when you are free, and as true Starks you both were destined to live and raise your families there. Bran heard your prayers through the weirwoods, and Rickon, understanding your feelings, acted in such a way as to answer them."

Sandor exchanged glances with Sansa before barking, "What in Seven hells does that pile of-"

"Forgive us, Jon, but we do not understand what you are saying," Sansa interrupted, giving Sandor a stern frown.

Jon chuckled as he looked between the confused pair.

"Just speak plainly, Your Grace," Sandor corrected, nodding once to Sansa.

Daenerys clasped her hands, her eyes twinkling with fun. "Upon your departure from Winterfell, I gave Lord Rickon leave to build a small castle on a parcel of land to the north of Wintertown. He chose a spot amidst a large stand of deep red alders, quivering aspen and pine trees overlooking a great green glacial lake."

"Oh, can it be? This is so very generous and beautiful-it is a dream come true!" Sansa asked, tears forming in her eyes. "Oh, Sandor, it is too wonderful to imagine. Did you know about it?"

Sandor narrowed his eyes. "No, lass, it is a surprise for us both. Why do such a thing?"

"Rickon means to ensure that Sansa will have an inheritance of her very own. Sandor, you and she may take it as the Clegane family seat, or if you prefer, Rickon will hold it in your stead for your future children. He has also offered you a wing at Winterfell for the both of you, if Sansa should wish to return there instead."

"Oh, thank the old gods and the new!" Sansa cried, throwing her arms around Jon and Daenerys by turns.

Sandor was not so easily won over. "Why didn't Lord Rickon make the offer to his sister himself? What need does he have to go through you to give Sansa an inheritance from his own lands?"

"Rickon has been seeking Sansa's release from our service here for quite some time; in fact he did not want her to leave Winterfell in the first place. He heartily protested her return to King's Landing in the strongest of terms. However, as Warden of the North, he needs the queen's permission solely so that in the event some northern lord protested the claim. This way on parchment everything will have been handled according to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. We all know that Stark women do not hold lands in the North."

Stepping forward, Daenerys placed her arm on Sansa's shoulder. "And who says that Stark women do not hold lands in the North?"

"I do not disapprove, I merely meant that _traditionally_ they have not, as of yet, held lands in the north," Jon amended. "It has been considered the male responsibility to serve the realm. Valar morghulis, all men must serve my queen; and it is the same idea with the Northerners as to which gender offers such service."

"We are _not_ men," Daenerys held Sansa's hand. "I serve the realm as queen, and Sansa, you have served me a truly as any man, and will be rewarded accordingly. What say you, dearest niece? Do you wish to accept your brother's offer?"

Sansa looked hopefully at Sandor. "Of course, I could not accept without discussing it first with Sandor."

"Little bird," he rasped low, drawing her close. "This is your chance. Your choice. I would not stand in your way."

"But what of Clegane Keep-it is your family seat, after all. Do you not wish to restore it?"

"A place of ghosts and nightmares, lass; I would not have taken you to wife there." He said low, shifting on his feet. "I never want to see it again."

"Would you consider accepting a settlement for the land, Lord Clegane? I would consider razing the keep and turning it into a place of service or anything you and Sansa would like."

Sandor pursed his lips. "Then take it, Your Grace, turn it into a stable for all I care. It holds no special place for me." He turned toward Sansa. "Little bird, what say you? What should be done with it?"

After a pause, Sansa said quietly, "Remember all of the orphans and widows we encountered on the way North?"

"Aye," he nodded gravely.

"My queen, so many were half-starved, injured, weak and sick-oh dearest, so many suffered through the war! Yet, they always tried to help each other whenever possible. Many times they helped us elude our enemies, at great cost to themselves."

"That they did, and they made a sight I won't soon forget," he nodded solemnly. "Always with the words, "The North remembers," and "Winterfell's Daughter."

Tears softly began to fall down Sansa's cheeks, and Jon took her by the hand. "I would have a place for orphans and widows to live and heal built onto the lands formerly held by the Cleganes, my queen. Perhaps we could feed the people, teach them a trade to better themselves, and provide a maester for their illnesses. It could become a place for healing instead of hurt, and the name Clegane would become synonymous with safety and security, as it has always been for me. What do you think, Sandor?"

Clearing his throat, he rasped low and looked at their entwined fingers, "A fine idea. My sister, she would have liked that."

Jon looked at the queen. "It is settled then. Now you only need decide on the wedding."

Sansa cast her eyes to the ground. "I-I do not wish to marry in the godswood here, or in the Sept of Baelor where Father-." Wringing her hands, she turned to her betrothed. Sandor wrapped his arms around her.

"Please, Sandor, do not be angry. After Father and Joffrey and Tyrion-I cannot bear the idea of marrying here. I wish to be wed in Winterfell's godswood."

"I'd be the last to fault you for that. We'll do what you want, Sansa," He ran his fingers through his hair. "Long trip, though."

"No, not necessarily," Daenerys interjected. "We could take my ship _Dragonwings_ to White Harbor and then make for Winterfell. It would not take more than a fortnight and a sennight by sea. What say you, Jon?"

"Agreed. It would be a much easier trip, and only an occasional autumn storm is likely at this time of year."

Sansa nervously glanced up at Sandor. "How do you like the idea, Sandor? Please, tell me truly."

Sandor took her hand and kissed it softly as Jon and the queen stared in disbelief at witnessing such a tender display from the fearsome Hound. "No need to suit me," he shrugged. "I like it fine. I've wanted and waited for you all this time, and a few weeks more won't matter. We'll wed in Winterfell just as you wish."

Daenerys beamed. "It is settled, then. By week's end, we make for Winterfell."

* * *

The royal Targaryen swan ship _Dragonwings_ was magnificent, the largest ever built. Sansa felt as though she stepped into a dream as Sandor helped her onto the highly polished weirwood deck.

Purple and red silk chaises dotted the seating area and great white and gold sun canopies dipped overhead with the breeze. A contingency of Unsullied archers lined the deck, standing at attention as they stepped aboard.

"Lord Clegane, Lady Sansa," Ser Barristan bowed. "Allow me to show you to your quarters."

"Where is the queen and my brother?"

"Occupied, just now," Ser Barristan winked, leading them down a spacious walkway on the interior. "Here you are," he opened the door to a luxurious apartment.

Glancing around, Sandor grunted. "Are we to share? That suits me just fine but her princely brother won't like it much, believe that."

Scandalized, Sansa blushed scarlet. "Pray, forgive my betrothed, Ser Barristan. It was only a jest."

"My dear Lady Sansa, I assure you I am not offended. I am well familiar with his sense of humor and have heard far worse come from Lord Clegane many times over the years."

"Forgive me, I had forgotten how well acquainted the two of you are," Sansa laughed softly. "You are most kind in your wording." Sandor's mouth twitched into a small grin.

"Lady Sansa, the queen has made provisions for you to stay in adjoining rooms with Lord Clegane, since you are at once her betrothed and sworn shield," Ser Barristan smirked at the scarred man. "This way, please."

Sansa entered the apartment to find elegantly carved solid blond oak paneling lining the walls depicting the various campaigns of Daenerys and Jon fighting the Others. Massive dragons and direwolves adorned the Braavosi tiled floors. In the far right of the room, a purple-gray and cream marble and wrought iron stove stood beside a lovely downy featherbed covered in white and gray furs. Sansa shyly exchanged glances with Sandor, who chuckled low under his breath.

Ser Barristan waved in two servant girls who quickly attended the fireplace and laid out a meal of cheeses, grapes and assorted fruits, venison pies and honey walnut cakes. Sandor wasted no time pouring himself a glass of fine Dornish red and settling into the chaise.

"Queen Daenerys does not mean for you to be interrupted unless you should require anything further. There are four servants across the hall to attend the both of you."

"Is this considered, well, proper, Ser Barristan?" Sansa asked nervously. The twittering handmaidens allowed their eyes to leisurely wander over Sandor's physique as they lit candles and brought in hot water for bathing.

"Quite so, my lady, rest assured there is no impropriety in it. The queens' ways are merely different to that which you are accustomed."

"Of course." Sansa turned her attention to the handmaidens and heard them speaking in Valyrian. Quickly she flushed red and lowered her eyes at their words. _Muscled like a bull, he is; one can only imagine the size of the rest of his endowments. It is a wonder the queen doesn't keep him for herself._

"The queen's niece speaks Valyrian," Ser Barristan glared at them. "Apologize at once before I speak to the queen."

"Forgive us, my lady," they both said low and bowed before the two young women hurriedly disappeared giggling into the hallway.

Ser Barristan shook his head. "I will speak to the queen about those two. The royal dressmakers will attend to you later this afternoon, Lady Sansa. Aside from this appointment, you both will be required at supper and the rest of your time is your own."

Sansa hastily replied, "Thank you, Ser Barristan." Behind her she heard Sandor's heavy rasping; the door closed behind the old knight and Sandor began laughing in earnest.

"What is it? Did you understand the handmaidens?" Sansa asked, sitting down on his knee and spreading her skirts daintily before her before resting her arms around his neck.

"Not a word," he rasped out while still laughing. "The look on your face though, was enough to get my blood up, with all your innocent blushes," he muttered low, allowing his finger to trail up her neck and along the curve of her cheek.

"You need not hear it, Sandor. Is he mocking us in some way? I cannot imagine Ser Barristan doing so."

"No, love; the joke is that the queen means to keep your nosy princely brother out of our hair," Sandor growls low, softly nuzzling the nape of her neck. "And that will allow us to get to know each other more intimately."

"No, I do not believe that," Sansa chided while leaning against him and drawing a deep sigh. "She means for me to keep my honor, of that I am certain."

"By placing us in adjoining rooms on the opposite end of the ship from her and your brother? You think the queen thinks there is a lack of honor in two people enjoying the physical pleasures of love? Daenerys is a Targaryen, married to a Dothraki, and by her own account was educated by a pleasure servant bought for her by her own brother. Bugger me, rumors abound that she has bedded who knows how many men-and some say, women, too. Grow up, Sansa. She's nowhere near as puritanical as you are, Little bird-she fucks her own nephew, for the Seven's sake!"

"I am not puritanical!" Sansa jerked away from him. "And they are not just doing that vulgar word for procreating-they are in love. The Targaryens believe differently about such things and I do not judge their customs."

Sandor roared out a laugh and slapped his knee. "Like hells you don't! They're trying for a Targaryen heir, another blood of the dragon. I don't know how much love has to do with it."

"Well that is true enough, I admit it. I try not to judge and work at not thinking poorly of their behavior. I was taught that a lady behaves appropriately and with dignity with her betrothed, that is all. You know I believe in the gods and the sanctity of marriage, and that the bedding waits until after the wedding. I am not ashamed of my values. Bother Jon and the queen," Sansa sighed. "What they do away from me is none of my concern."

"True enough that, nor should you be ashamed of holding to your own ways, lass. I like you just as you are," he says more softly. "It will make our wedded night all the sweeter." Sandor drew her back into his arms and turned her chin to face him, his deep gray eyes suddenly dark and serious.

Tossing her head, Sansa shrugged, sarcasm seeping into her tone. "Yes, I know, it is because I will be yours and yours alone. After all that time on horseback, you will find me a disappointment, for I am most likely not a maiden at all anymore."

Sandor harrumphed and turned away, struggling to hide his smile at her innocence. Finally, he sat down beside her once more and stared at her closely. "Do you think that's all you are to me-a maiden's veil? Is that all our wedded night will be to _you_? Getting rid of a piece of skin?"

"Sandor, please, do not speak in such a way. It is most unbecoming."

"Bugger that. We are to be wed and besides, you opened the door lass," he said, folding his arms.

"That is true; No, of course it means more to me but I am not a child. I know how men feel about such things-how Tywin and Tyrion and Petyr thought of such things," Sansa shivered, and her involuntary reaction sent a surge of rage through the man.

"Don't mention those names here, Sansa; they have no place with us now."

Sansa sighed, knowing that Sandor had carefully hunted and killed the man in retribution for her, so she would feel safe at last. She did not know why she should feel uncomfortable talking of such intimacies with him; Sandor was there the day she first received her moon's blood-and saw it, too, to her utter humiliation. Still, it annoyed Sansa to hear anyone mention her maidenhead, for it had long been considered the sole object of her worth since before she bled.

"Why it should matter to _you_ , however, is a mystery to me." Sansa set her shoulders at him. "I shudder to think how many women _you_ have lain with since your youth, Sandor Clegane." Sansa sniffed, folding her arms with a frown. "Even those handmaidens would lay with you if given half a chance."

Stunned, Sandor stared at her in disbelief. He had never known the feeling of being so desired by anyone in his life before Sansa. And now, his precious Sansa all but admitted she was jealous. _Here the Little bird thought enough about my past experience to become envious, and of whores and handmaidens, no less._ Damn him, but after years spent being green-eyed over every man near her, he rather enjoyed the feeling of the shoe being on the other foot.

"Is the Little bird jealous of her scarred dog's past?" He grinned wickedly at her, resting his feet on the table and crossing his ankles.

"I might be," Sansa muttered low. "Yes, I suppose I am. How would you feel if you were in my place?" She challenged him, her beautiful blue eyes flashing angrily.

"If? I am in your fucking place every bloody moment of the day," he barked. "You've always got some pretty little lord mooning over you. It's all I can do not to carve their eyes out with my katar."

"That is hardly the same. If you knew that on our wedded night you would merely be one of a large number of men with whom I had kissed and undressed and touched and-"

"Fuck, that is enough!" Sandor snarled, slamming his fist against the table. "Stop it! I can't hear any more of that shit. Woman, don't push me, now." Turning away from her, he gazed out the porthole while running his hands through his hair.

Startled, Sansa wrapped her arms about her waist. "It doesn't feel so good, does it?"

"Like I bloody well didn't know that until now? How can you be so blind?" He grated out, his voice pained and harsh.

Knitting her brows, Sansa moved toward him cautiously. "Blind to what, pray tell?"

Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her tightly against his chest. "I can't stomach the thought of any man near you, let alone putting his hands on you. I never could." Sandor gasped out, anger making his throat dry. Slowly he ran his fingers through the length of her hair. "Even just seeing them thrice damned bastards brush your hair out of your eyes or touch your back makes me want to ram my steel into them and open them up balls to brains."

His hands in her hair felt so good that Sansa leaned into his touch. "Sandor, it is merely a formality of manners," she slowly offered and placed her hand on his taut bicep.

"The fuck it is! They want to feel the sweet curve of your little waist under their hands. When that sick little fuck Joffrey touched your face the first day we met on the Kingsroad, it was all I could do not to rip his arm off."

Gently, he tipped his finger under her chin. Sansa's large and questioning eyes searched his face and she marveled that his harsh threatening tone was belied by the tenderness of his touch. "You cared for me then?"

"Aye, it began there in earnest." Sighing, he stroked her cheek affectionately with the back of his finger. "Having you as my wife, and taking you into my bed, is more than a dog like me deserves in life-it's far more than I ever thought to have, lass." Sandor gritted his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting her own.

"I don't deny that I'm no septon. I've fucked my fair share of whores and kitchen wenches. But damn it to the Seven hells, it isn't the same, Sansa-can't you see that?" He turned away from her and banged his fist against the table once more.

"Yes, it is not the same because you were the one doing it." Sansa said sadly, smoothing out her skirts and staring at her feet. "For me it is one in the same."

"No, Little bird," Sandor said quietly, leading her to the bed and slumping down on the furs. "Come here to me now."

Sansa stubbornly refused to meet his eyes, though she allowed him to wrap her close to him.

"It will be different, lass. I've never done such with someone I care for, with love and commitment." Sandor cleared his throat. "I've never been with the woman who will be my wife, and share my name. Sansa, it won't just be the first for you; it will be a first for the both of us. And I want it that way, and even though I'll thoroughly enjoy our privacy here, I'll not take advantage of you."

"You will not take advantage of me, Sandor, because I want this with you," Sansa whispered against his lips. "We have our featherbed, our privacy, and if I wish to give myself to you, it is because I love you, not because some septon or tree gives us permission."

Growling, Sandor pulled her down beside him on the bed and slowly kissed a trail down to her breastbone. Sansa moaned, and lifted his tunic over his head. A loud knock came from the door.

"What the fuck do you want?" Sandor cursed loudly, straightening up.

"A thousand pardons, my lord."

He waited until Sansa adjusted her gown and was seated at the table before opening the door.

"Grey Worm," Sandor said low, frowning.

"Lord Clegane, the queen requests your presence on deck for arms practice. Lady Brienne, Ser Barristan, and Jon are sparring as we speak."

"Aye, we'll be there in a minute," Sandor gruffly answered before slamming the door in the bewildered Unsullied officer's face.

Giggling, Sansa reached him in two strides. Sandor gathered her close in his arms. "We'll continue this after a while, Little bird."

"Yes, dearest, I believe I am in need of some practice of my own," Sansa laughed, slowly running her hands over the thick musculature of his abdomen. Settling her hands on the deep indentations below his hips, she slowly began massaging each side with her fingers in a rhythmic motion.

Beneath her touch, Sandor shuddered and twitched before a strangled moan escaped his throat. "The Seven save me," he groaned into her hair. "Lass, as good as this feels, you must not go on like that. I can't start into practice in this condition; your brother will have my head," he chuckled, his voice thick with need.

"Later, then, I will finish what we have started," she kissed him slow and deep, allowing her fingers to brush his manhood lightly. "I would learn to please you, as my friends in the Vale spoke of doing."

It had been a long time since Sandor took a woman, and Sansa's brazen words and touch made the man's desire race through his blood like a greenboy, sending him right over the edge. "Bloody hells, Sansa," Sandor grunted and then disappeared into his room to relieve himself. Afterward he heard Sansa giggling as he thoroughly rinsed his head and chest with ice water.

Sansa averted her eyes and blushed like sunset as she settled her hands through his arm. "I did not mean to-uh, do that. I only meant to touch you lovingly. Are you feeling better? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you did it all a bit _too_ well, damn it, you little minx," he chuckled low before kissing her soundly. "You did touch me lovingly, alright, as you say. It's been a long time since anyone touched me in such a way, though never with affection. You'll get yours later, believe that."

Sansa looked up at him through lowered lashes. "You are more sensitive than I would have thought, and I did not think I was too, uh, close to you. Forgive me, I do not wish to tease you. I-I only want to be a good wife to you and learn what pleases you."

Holding her hands in his, Sandor brushed her hair out of her eyes. "You do please me, Sansa. You are as fine and beautiful a woman as I have ever known, lass. No need to fret or do things you may not be ready for to prove it."

"No, I wanted to," Sansa smiled bashfully. "I want to touch you because I love you." Her voice sounded small and slightly afraid, as though she thought he would reject her. _Fat fucking chance of that happening._

"Though I don't say it much, gods save me, but I love you, too." Sandor whispered into her hair, holding her close before leading her toward the upper deck. "We"ll learn together."


	8. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lord Clegane would be less tense, shall we say, if the two of you were to take advantage of the privacy I have afforded you,” Daenerys patted her arm. “There are certain pleasures to be had, with or without the benefit of marriage.”

Watching her betrothed training against Lady Brienne, Jon and Grey Worm, Sansa realized it was the first time she appreciated his fighting skills without fear. The experience was new and enjoyable to her, and it was all she could do not to stand up and cheer for him; though the young woman doubted Daenerys would mind, she did not want to offend her cousin.

As Sandor continued battering his opponents, Sansa recalled the ferocity with which he protected her as they made their way north long ago. As fast as he was formidable, the Hound mercilessly dispatched anyone who threatened her. Many times Sansa marveled at the way the Hound and Sandor blended seamlessly within the man, at once a brutally efficient killer and capable of great tenderness when dealing with her.

Sandor’s agility never failed to impress her, and he was incredibly dominant in any fight. Afterward, he tried to hide his rage from her, vigorously chopping wood and tending the horses until his anger settled down. Mindful that his display of fury frightened her and brought back the brutality she suffered at Joffrey’s hands, Sandor approached her in an almost gentle manner, and Sansa never remained fearful of him for long.  

Her thoughts then drifted to the beginning of their love affair. Her feelings for him began in King’s Landing, but Sansa’s love for him grew in earnest much later. She witnessed Sandor conquer far worse foes than he ever faced in battle, diligently fighting his craving for drink and outbursts of anger with the help of the Elder brother on the Quiet Isle. His struggle touched a place deep within her, and her love blossomed then for him, she realized, and then steadily grew as they traveled onward together. Sansa never dared hope he would return her affection one day.

When he finally kissed her in the Vale, Sansa was overjoyed and astounded to discover Sandor felt the same toward her. She cried tears of happiness in his arms, her tears freezing to her cheeks as the snow fell around them.

Experiencing the love of such a powerful, determined man was a heady experience for the young woman. Still, earlier that day Sansa was surprised to learn that even her gentle touch profoundly affected him.

She longed to touch him, caress him and learn his body but she did not mean to tease him, neither did she anticipate his reaction would be so sudden and overpowering.

Sansa was not ignorant to his needs and the fact that he had waited a long time for her. Sandor’s suggestion she would get hers later both puzzled her and aroused her curiosity, so much so that she could hardly focus on anything else afterward. Trembling with excitement at the memory, Sansa knew she must change her train of thought or she would never be able to concentrate on the sport.

The afternoon sun had grown quite warm during her recollections and Sandor quickly shed his tunic and resumed fighting Jon and Grey Worm bare-chested. Sansa nearly gasped at the sight of his powerfully muscular build as he parried and dodged his opponents.

Sandor took them on two at a time, all the while shouting for them to move faster. Sansa sensed he was fighting especially hard because she was in the audience. Occasionally he looked her direction and grinned wickedly between bouts, thrilling her with his attentions.

Glancing sideways at her niece, the queen smiled at her staring at the scarred man. “Oh, he is very strong indeed! You are most fortunate, niece.”

Ser Barristan chuckled and leaned over to the queen. “Sandor Clegane is a man I never wanted to face in battle, my queen, and now you see why. I see the years have sharply honed his skill, and your niece could not ask for a better sword shield.”

“Indeed,” Daenerys replied evenly, her mouth curling into a smile. “I hope he is as skilled in _other_ areas as he is in battle.”

“Yes, my queen,” the old knight replied with a grin, ignoring the lewder implication of her words.

After what took place earlier between her and Sandor, Sansa could not easily overlook the queen’s words, and the young woman blushed deeply while staring into her lap in response.

Daenerys watched Sansa closely and gave her a knowing smile that made Sansa redden even further. “Lord Clegane is most impressive to behold, most impressive indeed,” Dany turned to her. “His physique is very agreeable to look upon, do you not agree, Sansa?”

Blushing once more, Sansa glanced downward. “Yes,” she whispered, folding her hands. “Though many have disparaged his scarred appearance, I have always found him most handsome. He has the look of the north.”

“Lady Sansa, I fear your fair skin will burn in this hot sun. Would you care for a shade?” Missandei asked, raising her eyebrow at Daenerys.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Sansa smiled up at her, relieved.

Missandei waved over two servants who quickly erected a small tarpaulin over the stands. Sansa had never actually seen Sandor’s body, and only felt his chest and stomach on rare occasions. With her face now shielded from the others, Sansa took the opportunity to unabashedly drink in every inch of Sandor’s muscular chest and arms as he fought on.

His dark hair hung below his shoulders, which were broad and heavily defined and rippled with each landed blow. Her eyes followed the trail of hair down his chest and abdomen, and Sansa breathlessly saw his carved stomach muscles followed below the waist of his breeches. _He is magnificent_ , she sighed softly while admiring the way years of fighting sculpted his body.

“Indeed he is,” Dany nodded to her with a wink.

A sudden wave of heat rose to Sansa’s cheeks. “Forgive me; I-I did not realize I spoke out loud, my queen.”

“There is no shame in admiring your lover’s physique, Sansa.”

“Oh, but we are-that is to say, we have not-“ Sansa stammered, wringing her hands.

Daenerys only shook her head and smiled before rising to her feet. “I name Lord Sandor Clegane our champion of the day!”

Confused, Sansa turned her attention back to the training yard.

Clearly annoyed, Jon yielded and laid down his training sword before he raised Sandor’s arm.

Sansa noticed his irritated behavior but cheered on her betrothed in spite of Jon’s scowl.

The queen beckoned to him. “Will you draw near Lord Clegane? You must name your queen of love and beauty.”

Sighing heavily, Sandor approached the dais and bowed low before her. Daenerys gestured to Jhiqui, who handed him a winter rose. Puzzled, Sandor accepted it, all the while frowning and glaring at the queen.

“A jape at the dog’s expense, Queen Daenerys?” The man growled low as he pulled the tunic over his head, holding the rose in between his teeth.

“Nothing like; I am merely suggesting a bit of fun for our amusement,” Dany laughed, her eyes twinkling as she watched the awkward man shift on his feet and glower at her.

Fearing Sandor would lose his temper for true, Sansa nervously stared into her lap. “Sandor, it is only a diversion, a bit of sport to end your training.”

“Sport, you say?” He addressed the queen. “Well, bugger that. Since it seems my lady wishes to go along with it, I choose my betrothed, of course,” Sandor muttered as he laid the bloom carefully in Sansa’s lap. “Little bird,” he murmured, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he met her gaze.

Sansa leaned over and softly kissed his sweaty brow before eagerly claiming his mouth. “Thank you for the honor, my love, and for humoring your future wife,” she beamed, handing him her handkerchief.

“Humph,” he grumbled as he mopped his forehead, grinning sheepishly at her for an instant before disappearing below deck.

Sansa’s eyes darted toward the queen. “Forgive my betrothed his discourteous behavior, my queen. I am certain he meant no disrespect. Sandor has never participated in the courtlier aspects of tournaments.”

Daenerys waved her hand. “Of course, dearest; do not fret. Jon warned me Sandor is not one for games of any kind. I have observed he is most ill-tempered, though, and it amuses me greatly to tease him.”

 _You won’t find it amusing if you go too far and Sandor truly loses his temper_ , Sansa thought, but the young woman merely smiled at her aunt in response.

“Lord Clegane would be less tense, shall we say, if the two of you were to take advantage of the privacy I have afforded you,” Daenerys patted her arm. “There are certain pleasures to be had, with or without the benefit of marriage.”

Sansa blushed while averting her eyes as Jon left off talking to Grey Worm and Ser Barristan and hurried toward the dais.

“Dany, I do not wish for you to put such ideas in her head,” he said tersely, grimacing at the queen. “Sansa does not need to be burdened with your ideas of morality.”

“It appears Lord Clegane had the right of it; you do still view Sansa as a little girl and not a woman grown,” the queen murmurs, her eyes darkening. “And in view of your own behavior with me and Ygritte, you may consider holding your tongue.”

Interested, Sansa met her cousin’s eyes. Jon turned away awkwardly from her. “That was different and you know it. I only disapprove because such conduct does not coincide with Sansa’s traditional upbringing and personality,” Jon replied to the queen.

“Raised as you both were as siblings, it does not ‘go along’ with your personality or upbringing either. Jon, really, you must leave Sansa and Sandor to their own devices and stop imposing these nonsensical archaic ideals on her.”

Without waiting for his reply, Daenerys rose and took Sansa by the arm. “Let us go look at gowns for your wedded day, dear niece. What say you?”

“Oh yes, I am so very excited to do so, my queen,” Sansa nodded, casting one last searching glance at Jon before leaving the dais. 

* * *

 

The queen’s Myrish dressmakers had turned Sansa’s drawing room into a bridal salon by the time they arrived. Each wall displayed the finest laces, brocades and intricate hand embroidered silks to be found in the Seven kingdoms and Free Cities.

Sansa had never seen such riches in her entire life. “Everything is so beautiful,” the young woman faintly remarked while looking around in wonder.

“Sansa, please, choose whatever you like. Among Targaryens, providing the wedded gown for the bride is considered an honor, a treasured gift from the family.”

Sansa smiled through happy tears. “A lovely tradition. In the face of such beauty, it is hard to know where to start.”

“You will find a vast assortment of silks, satins and laces in House Stark colors, and I made certain there was a wide array available in the Clegane colors as well,” Missandei bowed with a smile.

“I think I will wear the Stark colors on my bridal cloak and the gown I will have made in Sandor’s house colors. It is a tradition in our family, since Shireen wore a combination of Stark and Baratheon colors when she and Rickon wed, and Arya wore a blend of Stark and Gendry’s colors as well.”

“Remove the gray and white silks at once,” Daenerys commanded. “Send in Lady Brienne.” Turning to Sansa, the queen’s eyes sparkle with fun. “I have a gift from Jon-just the item for your bridal cloak.”

“Truly? You both are too good to me,” Sansa clasped her hands.

Brienne entered the room and knelt before Daenerys. “You requested my presence, my queen?”

“Thank you for joining us, Lady Brienne; we could use your help.”

“I do not wish to offend you, but I do not think I am the right person to advise Lady Sansa on bridal clothes. My wedding to Jaime was quite simple, as I was carrying our son Brandon.”

Brienne looked away quickly as fresh tears sprang into her eyes. Even though several years had passed since Jaime died battling Gregor with Sandor, the loss of her beloved husband was still fresh and painful to the woman.

Sadly, Sansa watched Brienne apprehensively take in the wide assortment of finery. Neither Daenerys nor Sansa spoke, not wanting to interrupt the woman, who seemed lost in her thoughts.  

Looking around her, Brienne was reminded of her own wedded gown made from deep burgundy silk, much plainer than most highborn’s formal apparel. Jaime had commissioned it for her before he even asked for her hand, and when she said yes he presented it to her on the spot.

Turning away, she paused sadly, recalling the wolfish grin Jaime had given her when she made her way to him on their wedded day. When Jaime laid eyes on her, he immediately went to her side, offered his arm and told her she looked beautiful. It was one of the few occasions he spoke without the usual teasing lilt in his tone, and for the first time in her life, Brienne actually felt beautiful. She wiped away an errant tear that escaped her eyes and cleared her throat.

Daenerys approached her and placed her hand on Brienne’s shoulder, recalling her to the present. “Forgive me, Lady Brienne, I did not think of your own loss when I asked you to join us. It was most insensitive of me. There is no excuse, for I share your grief. I still miss my husband Drogo. Time dulls the pain but it never leaves entirely, I am afraid.”

Sansa turned and went to her. “Brienne, please, if it is too painful for you to be here, I understand. Jaime was very dear to us all and one of the bravest men I have ever known. Your loss is shared by many.”

Swallowing hard, Brienne forced the corner of her mouth into a small smile. “You are both very kind, my ladies, but Jaime would have wanted me to move forward. Lady Sansa, my Jaime cared for you and respected you more than anyone. I would be sorry indeed if I could not share in your joy, as you are very dear to me as well.”

Sansa impulsively pulled Brienne close in a tight embrace.  “As you are to me. It would not be the same planning my wedding without you.”

The queen nodded. “Lady Brienne, you are just the woman who would appreciate this item Jon procured for Sansa. Would you accompany Missandei and Jhiqui?”

“Of course,” she bows low and disappears with the two women into the queen’s vault. Soon the three returned carrying an immense white pelt.

“My queen, it is beautiful and must need a skilled hunter to have taken the animal while keeping the pelt intact,” Brienne smiled approvingly.

“Some months back, Drogon cornered a white lion near the Dothraki sea when I went to visit the people. When I explained that Jon is my nephew, everyone considered it a good omen. Khal Jhaqo went out on the hunt at once and insisted on presenting the fur of the animal to me as a gift for Jon. Of course, once he saw it, he wanted you to have it as your wedded cloak.”

Stunned, Sansa runs her fingers through the soft snowy fur. “It is lovely. I do not think I could manage it, though. It is quite heavy.”

“We will have it sized for you, my dear. Adorn it in any way that pleases you.”

“I have never owned such a fine garment, nor one with so much meaning. I would like to keep it just as it is,” Sansa answered softly.

“An excellent idea, my lady,” Brienne agreed.

“It pleases me greatly to hear you say such, Sansa, as it honors my people,” Daenerys motioned for the women to place it upon her niece’s shoulders.

“I cannot thank you enough for such generosity, my queen,” Sansa murmurs, startled by the striking figure she saw in the gilded mirror smiling back at her. Turning to the queen, Sansa curtsied low before her and kissed both her hands.

“You are most welcome. So do you see anything here you like?” Daenerys queried, touched by Sansa’s delighted response. “If not, I will commission anything you wish.”

“This one is unlike any northern gown I have ever seen. May I try it?” Sansa timidly pointed to a heavy sleeveless butter yellow satin gown cut into a deep scalloped v at the neckline. The material and style was more revealing than any gown Sansa had ever worn. Imagining Sandor’s reaction to seeing her in it on their wedded day sent pleasurable tingles up her spine as she touched the material.

“Of course you may; the style and material comes from the free city of Volantis,” Daenerys said, her eyes sparkling when she spotted the deep blush coloring Sansa’s cheeks. “I dare say you have never worn such a style before.”

“No, I have not,” Sansa shyly admitted. “It is the most beautiful gown I have ever seen.” The satin body of the gown was overlaid with the sheerest organza adorned with gold and silver lace that glittered like frostwork. Delicate buttercream colored pearls lined the edge of the sheer caplet covering the bodice and hemline.

“Do you think Jon will disapprove?”

Brienne smiled widely at her “I imagine he will, though I believe it will make Sandor Clegane the happiest of men to see you wearing it.”

The women all laughed at her words, for the very idea of Sandor Clegane behaving in such a manner was beyond anything they could imagine.

“Leave your cousin to me, Sansa. Missandai, please help Lady Sansa into the gown.”

Jhiqui quickly removed Sansa’s northern style gown, shift, and corset. “In this gown, you’ll need none of these on your wedded day, my lady, and that will no doubt please your husband very much.” The women all giggled.

Missandei helped her into the heavily detailed gown before turning her toward the mirror. Sansa smiled happily as she took in her reflection. The buttery color set off her deep auburn hair and blue eyes, and the fine material clung to her curves before flaring at the floor into a short train that shimmered when she moved.

“Sansa, it is perfect!” Daenerys beamed at her. “You must wear this on your wedded day-I insist.”

“Thank you, I would be honored to wear it,” Sansa nodded happily.

“That is not all, dearest niece: I have had all new smallclothes, nightgowns and shifts made for you as a wedded gift. Jhiqui, please bring them in for her.”

Blushing, Sansa stammered, “Thank you so very much. This is all so generous and kind of you.”

Sensing Sansa’s embarrassment, Dany added, “You may open them later, if you wish. I am certain Sandor would enjoy seeing them as well.” A sharp knock interrupted the women.

“Enter,” the queen called out, motioning for Missandai to cover Sansa’s gown and underclothes.

Ser Barristan appeared at the doorway and bowed low. “The captain wishes me to inform you there is an autumn storm on the horizon, none too severe. Nevertheless he requests that you and your guests retire to your private rooms for the duration. I will gladly return you to your quarters, my queen.”

“Thank you. Sansa, please, stay here with Sandor. I will see to it your meals are brought up directly.”

Sansa curtsied before her. “Thank you, my queen, for everything.”

Once the gowns and women were cleared out of the drawing room, Sandor knocked softly before peeking around the room warily. “Are the hens gone?”

Laughing, she motioned for him to come in. “Yes, and I found my wedded gown this afternoon, so there will be no more of them here in our rooms. I also have a host of new things the queen believes you would enjoy viewing as well. Did you hear that there is a storm coming?”

“Aye that I did. No need to fear, Little bird, I’ll keep you safe,” he rasped low, gathering her close in his arms.


	9. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are flushed, Sansa-you aren’t feeling feverish, are you?”
> 
> “You mock me, Lord Clegane,” Sansa breathed softly, smiling as she rested her hands against his chest. “You know very well why I am flushed.” Delicately she began running the flat of her hand over the hard muscles of his low back before inching them further below his breeches.

“How did you occupy your time while I tried on wedding clothes?” Sansa took him by the hand and led him to the velvet chaise lounge sofa.  For a fleeting moment she thought of the handmaiden’s comments about his physique and she angrily fluffed the pillow in her hand.

Sandor took out his knife. “I had a bath and then spoke to your brother or cousin, or whatever the fuck he is to you now.” Reaching for an apple, he brushed it off on his tunic  and then carefully began spiraling the blade against the peel.

“I see,” Sansa affected a casual tone while smoothing down her skirts. _For the Seven’s sake, did Jon mention to Sandor what Daenerys said after the training? Why cannot the both of them just mind their own business?_

He watched her closely out of the corner of his eye. “Jon wanted me to promise I wouldn’t ‘violate your honor’ as he called it. Hypocritical little shit; he made me your sword shield and yet still needs to tell me not to hurt you.”  Sandor snorted, offering her a slice.

Sansa daintily placed the fruit in her mouth, all the while her cheeks flushed in anger. “How dare he? You would never violate me in any manner,” she said frostily. “It is unacceptable for him to even make such a statement to you. I will speak to him about it later.”

“No matter; he only meant to make sure I knew he expects you to remain a maiden until our wedded night, not that he fears I would truly violate you in any way. Jon’s afraid the northern lords will not accept me as your husband if they learn we have laid together before the ceremony.”

“Bother the northern lords; how would any of them know it if we kept it to ourselves?  It is none of Jon’s concern and the queen does not consider it as anything,” Sansa said. “It is true they may react negatively to such information but my maiden’s gift is mine alone, and I’ll not discuss it with any man other than you.”

Grinning, Sandor handed Sansa another piece of apple. “Don’t worry your pretty red head, Little bird; I settled it with him.”

In truth, Sandor assured him he would never hurt Sansa, not that he would stay out of her bed. He knew full well the serious complications doing so would certainly cause her and the rest of the Stark family but Sandor usually managed to push those thoughts out of his mind when she was in his arms.

“I hate men who brag about the women they bed, buggering bastards. Besides, you are to be my wife,” he snarled. “Any man dares make so much as a rude remark will find himself gutted, I promise you that.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Sansa smiled, kicking off her slippers and settling beside him. The realization that they very well could spend the rest of the evening alone set Sansa’s stomach aflutter.  Wrapping her hands around his bicep, Sansa gazed up at him and smiled. 

Sandor pulled her body tightly against his and nibbled at her shoulder, grunting approvingly when she turned her head to expose more of her neck. “Hmm, you taste better than any fruit the queen has to offer, lass.”

The feel of his hot mouth tracing over her skin was glorious. Gently she cupped his neck and drew him closer still, laughing softly. She did not want him to stop; in fact she wanted more of _everything_ with him. Sansa rested her cheek against his neck and nuzzled into him, reveling in his masculine, warm scent. “Are you injured from your training? You fought quite fiercely today.”

He grunted and adjusted his position, his brawny arms surrounding her as he drew her onto his lap. “Noticed that, did you? Well as your betrothed, I thought  I’d best prove my worth in front of your kin.”

“You need not for me,” Sansa boldly kissed his neck and caressed his cheek. “I have known your worth for many years hence, Sandor, and such is not found merely in your abilities in battle, though you are far more skilled in warfare than any man I have ever known."

“Quit your chirping and kiss me,” he muttered as he took her face into his hands. The way his mouth twitched Sansa knew he was pleased with her praise as he tenderly covered her lips with his own. Pulling on the neckline of her gown, he gently sought more of her skin and resumed tasting her neck.

His intimate advances suddenly made her nervous. “It is only that I-I would hate for you to suffer later from your exertions. I shall have liniment sent up for you.”

“Bloody hells,” he shrugged. “I may be a bit older than you, Little bird, but not so old I can’t handle an afternoon of sparring without a rubdown-that is, unless you’re offering to do it, woman.”

Sansa raised her eyes, and saw his normally keen gaze glittering with amusement. Bashfully she smiled up at him and twisted a lock of his hair. “If you wish it, I would be glad to help you. You were most impressive to look upon without your tunic. No one could withstand you today, and I always feel safest when with you.”

Swallowing hard, Sandor slowly ran his finger over the curve of her cheek and silently traced her perfect features, seemingly deep in thought.  “I take it my chirping queen of love and beauty wishes to wait out the storm with her scarred dog, then.”

Heat washed over Sansa’s body at the sound of his words spoken thick with need.  Unsure what to do next, she shifted away from him slightly and avoided his eyes. “Yes, I do,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched her own. “And how should we pass the time?” The usual teasing tone in his voice was clear, but his eyes darkened with a hunger that sent a shiver through her body. “Storm will be a while, and mayhap even last all night.”

Blushing, she looked down. What did he want her to say? Did he want her to invite him into her bed? Should she do so now or wait until later? She did not want him to think her wanton.  Finally she offered, “We can sup and then, well, we could play cyvasse if you like.”

Captivated by her innocent behavior, Sandor’s deep laugh resonated through her body. He held her firmly against his chest as he studied her so she couldn’t move away a second time. “Bugger that, Little bird. I’ve had enough games for one day,” he growled before kissing the hollow of her throat.

His hands slowly crept down to her hips and Sandor began massaging her in a rhythmic motion just above her pelvis. Liquid heat unfurled from the point of his touch in way she had never experienced, and before she knew it, an unladylike moan escaped her lips.

Coyly she reached under his tunic and allowed her fingers to play across the muscles of his abdomen.

He trembled beneath her touch and bent down to bring her face closer to his.

“So have you, it would seem,” he teased, tipping her face up. _Fuck but I need her._

A deep aching need paired with uncertainty blended within her. As he continued to caress her hips and taste her mouth, an unexpected warmth enveloped her body. She could not resist squirming in his lap, trying to ease the burning desire emerging in her core. Slowly he brought his hands over her backside before cupping the curve of her bottom, squeezing her against him.

Sansa remembered the way the coarse hair of his stomach formed a thick line that disappeared below his breeches earlier. Moving closer to him, she gasped as she instantly felt Sandor’s desire pressed insistently against her woman’s place.

“You feel so good,” she breathed out in spite of herself, tentatively running her hands through his hair as she leaned into him further. “Oh, my love,” She moaned, discovering the new position allowed his arousal to press even harder against her.

“Gods, Little bird,” Sandor moaned beneath her, digging his hands into her tender flesh for purchase. Sansa’s response to him was more than he could have hoped for. She fairly blossomed under his touch, and witnessing the pleasure he was able to bring to her body only intensified his own passion for her.  

Deftly he moved her astride him while he kissed his way to the top of her bodice.  She laid her head back and sighed, her hands pulling him closer to her still.

The man could hardly contain himself. Never had a woman responded to him in such a way. He wanted to love and pleasure his beloved Sansa, and much to his amazement, she seemed to feel the same way with him.

Turning his chin up to look at her, Sandor relished the expression of utter bliss adorning her face. “You are flushed, Sansa-you aren’t feeling feverish, are you?”

“You mock me, Lord Clegane,” Sansa breathed softly, smiling as she rested her hands against his chest. “You know very well why I am flushed.” Delicately she began running the flat of her hand over the hard muscles of his low back before inching them further below his breeches.

Shuddering, Sandor halted his caresses and rested his large hands on the back of her thighs, tracing the curve of her bottom. “Do I?” He smirked at her. “Must be you were in the sun too long.”

“No, I could have watched you all day,” she whispered, wriggling against him in a most wanton manner. She longed for more of him, and was most disappointed when he did not resume his ministrations. She felt his manhood twitch beneath her at her movements and so she repeated the motion.

“Something else is causing you to color like sunset,” he clutched her tightly and breathed against her. Her maidenly embarrassment and wriggling aroused the man all the more. “Tell me what it is, Sansa,” Sandor nipped at her neck.

“Alright,” she murmured, lowering his head to hers and kissing him deeply while allowing her full weight to rest on his lap. “It is _you_ , my love-as if you did not already know it.”

Sandor growled and urgently drew her body flush against his manhood, running his hands up her bare legs toward her thighs. “Little bird,” his husky voice filled her ear before he trailed kisses down her throat and collar. “Gods but you’ll be the death of me.” Yanking loose her bodice, he continued running his tongue over every inch of bare skin as her gown fell away and exposed her body to him.

Giggling, she loosened her bindings before returning to his arms. Suddenly his hands  were all over her at once, moving over her bare skin inside the gown before settling over her back.

“Seven save me, you are perfect,” he rasped out, moving his hands up to her hips and then over her buttocks and low back.

His touch felt wonderful. It barely registered to her when he began unlacing her gown even further.  In the back of her mind, Sansa knew everything about what they were doing was improper but she could not be made to care for the pleasure his touch. Without hesitation she allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders, the material covering only her breasts.

Startled to discover she wasn’t wearing her shift, Sandor eagerly ran his hands over her soft skin while drinking in her uncovered flesh. “Bloody hells but you are a beautiful sight."

“As are you,” Sansa murmured, lifting his tunic over his head.

“Where is my proper Little bird? Left off wearing smallclothes now, have you?”

A wave of embarrassment seared through her. _Did he think I planned this and deliberately did not wear smallclothes in order to entice him?_ “Forgive me, I-I did not put on my underclothing after I tried on the gown,” she stammered, blushing clear to her chest. “I could not wear it underneath that  style of gown and I planned on bathing after, so I did not bother with them.”

Sandor’s intense gaze swept over her body, making her feel as though he already knew what she looked like without smallclothes. Laughing, he finally lowered his face to her bodice. “No need to explain; you are more lovely that I ever imagined and you are to be my wife,” he groaned, kissing the tops of her breasts.

“I-I am glad I am to your taste,” she whispered into his hair. “I long for our wedded day, my love.”

“So do I, lass. Seven hells but I want a taste of you-I’ll never keep you a maiden until our wedded night, not with this much temptation,” he stopped abruptly and sighed against her skin. As much as he longed to take her, he could not bear the thought he might ruin her prospects by putting a babe in her. She had given him far more than she would ever know and he would not allow a moment's pleasure ruin everything she worked so hard to build for them.

His kisses and intimate touch brought on a peculiar pressure that was steadily building within her, and Sansa knew she wanted _more_ of him. “I want you, too, my love,” Sansa murmured. “More that you realize. The queen said there are other ways to enjoy each other.”

Sandor shook his head almost angrily before moving away from her and pulling on his tunic. “Aye, she is just the sort who would say such a thing. But I won’t risk your return north, Sansa, no matter how badly I want you.” Sighing, he added, “You’ll change your mind after a cool bath; go on then.”  

The absence of Sandor’s touch left her dazed, and the unexpected change in his mood confused her. “I love you, and I wish to love you in body as well as heart.” After kissing him softly several times, Sansa moved her hand inside of his tunic until it rested over his heart.

“Sansa, fuck, don’t-“

“Look at me,” she said, cupping his cheek. “I will not change my mind, my love. I want you-all of you. There is no need for you to doubt me or my love for you.”

Sandor dipped his head into her neck once more and he inhaled her feminine scent before kissing her along her collarbone.  Jerking upward, he quickly moved away from her. “I-I don’t,” he muttered with a sigh. “I just need to know that you won’t end up, that we won’t-“ He stammered. “Have your bath Little bird.”

Sansa understood his hesitance and nodded when she met his gaze. Squeezing his arm, she turned away, holding together her gown while she gathered her things.

He stared out at the water with a frown. “Best take it now before that storm hits. I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“You are right about the look of the sky. I have not seen such since the Vale. The queen is having our meal readied also, so I will make haste.”

“Bugger that; it won’t be that bad, lass,” Sandor grunted, settling himself on her bed and opening the box. “I’ll go get our meal in a moment. I need to clear my head first.” Knitting his brows, he pawed through the contents. “What is all this?”

“It is a wedded gift from Daenerys. She had new undergarments, shifts and sleeping clothes made for me. I think they are very lovely. All are made from the most beautiful of laces and silks. Are they-are they to your liking?”

Snorting, Sandor grinned at her, the wicked gleam in his eyes sending butterflies to her stomach once more. “You really are an innocent Little bird, even after all this time,” Lifting up a turquoise lace pair of smallclothes with teal silk ribbons, he laughed, “These pretty  things are the enemy, made to frustrate men. They are nothing more than another garment that needs removing before I get what I _really_ want.”

Sansa bit her lip and recoiled at his brash words. Noticing her scandalized expression, he added more evenly, “I’ll prefer you without them, lass, believe that, but that won’t keep me from enjoy seeing you in them for a bit.”

Allowing his eyes to rove over her body, his intense gaze made Sansa simultaneously want to run away and expose herself to him. Blushing deeply, she averted her eyes and smiled timidly at him.

“I best see to our dinner,” he grumbled before hastily leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

By the time Sandor returned, the storm began its assault on the large vessel, while lighting and thunder lit up the night sky over the water. Sliding into the doorway, Sandor barely had time to hand off their meal to Sansa before the next wave rocked the violently swaying ship.

“Sandor, I-I am so frightened! I have never been at sea during a storm,” she clutched his arm.

Chuckling, he lifted her into his arms. “Come, lass, our food will wait until the weather settles,” he growled, carrying her into his room.

“Where are we going?” Sansa squeaked out.

Sandor appreciatively  drank in the lovely sight Sansa made in the emerald silk sleeping gown and robe she was now wearing. “Where do you think I’m taking you, Little bird? My room. My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down.”

 _Spend the entire night in Sandor’s bed?_ The very idea made Sansa’s mind and heart race with nervous excitement.

He gave her a devilish grin. “We won’t be able to use the stove, so I’ll keep you warm and safe until the storm passes.”

“That is a good idea, my love,” Sansa nodded, blushing deeply. “You are so clever.”

Sandor laughed outright. “Like a fox, lass. Don’t fret; you have nothing to worry about with me.”

“I know, dearest,” Sansa caressed his cheek _._ “You have always kept me safe.” _Even from my own desires_ , she added silently.


	10. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do you want this with me?” He choked out before suddenly burying his face into her neck with a deep sigh.
> 
> “I love you, and I want to be joined to you in body and heart. I have ached to be thus with you for so very long, Sandor,” Sansa whispered in his ear before gently nibbling on his lobe. Lightly he began moving his hands over her once more, tracing the curve of her breast before rubbing his thumb over her nipple as his eyes silently asked for her acquiescence once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer-the muse left for a bit! Thank you for all the kind reviews, I’ll make an effort to answer each of them over the next few days :D

Sansa glanced around the interior of Sandor’s room. The well-appointed furnishings gave the solar a warm feel. Solid oak paneling lined the walls of the stateroom and thick Meerish tapestries covered floor. A dim candle hung in a lantern suspended from the rafters in the corner, the flaxen wick flickering with each rolling movement of the vessel. 

Carefully Sandor bent to put out the fire in the stove and then maneuvered his way toward the bed with Sansa cradled close to his chest. “You’ll be safe and warm here with me.” The ship continued to sway and pitch but Sansa felt secure in his arms. She never failed to marvel at how powerful and strong he was, and that her betrothed always made her feel safe, even in a storm at sea.

Sansa noticed the slight shudder that rippled through his muscular body as he approached the bed.  His body was hardened by years of daily training, yet he held her tenderly, almost gently, as if she truly was a fragile little bird. The feel of being in his arms made her dizzy with excitement, and so she rested her cheek against his neck. Heat radiated from his muscular frame, instantly warming her despite the chilled air permeating the room.

As he settled her into the furs, the emerald silk sleeping gown draped softly over her body. Following the path of his eyes, she glanced down to see that the supple material had revealed every detail of her curves. Giggling self-consciously, as Sansa sunk into the thick feather mattress, the young woman moved to cover herself. “My love, your bed is so comfortable and soft, far more so than mine! How did the maid ever manage to get it like this?”

“I did it. Fixing my own bunk is a force of habit. I never had a chamber maid in King’s Landing.” He rolled over on his side, his normally hard gray eyes softening as his eyes leisurely wandered over her body.

The intensity of his gaze alone made her breath come in short gasps. Trying hard to disguise her nerves, she gently reached for his hand and held it against her cheek. “Truly? You never had a maid there?” Sansa swept a lock of hair behind his good ear.

Chuckling, the man leaned over her further, his long dark hair brushing against her neck and chest as he did so. Smirking, he ran his finger over her jaw. “Not one who made my bed.”

Sansa’s face fell; his words felt like a sharp blow to her chest, and suddenly she could scarcely catch her breath to speak. Hastily she turned loose of his hand. Biting back tears, she stared out the porthole as a flash of lightning lit up the room. “Oh, I, I did not mean-“

Watching her curiously, Sandor cursed himself at the abrupt change his words brought about in his betrothed.  “Fuck, Sansa, I didn’t-“

The ship pitched sharply, causing Sansa to roll across the featherbed and land squarely against him, her small form now nestled against his chest. Clinging to him, she shakily asked, “Does it not worry you when the ship reels?”

“I’ve been in far worse storms many a time. The weather will likely give us more rain than rough seas once it blows out. We’ll be alright.”

“Oh.” She imagined that a man who during his life had sailed clear to the Iron Islands for battle would know about such things but his words did little to assuage her worry.

“Don’t you feel safe with me, Little bird?” Sandor rasped softly at her, stroking her cheek and willing her to look him in the eyes once more.

Sansa felt a warm flush spread over her as she shyly returned his look. “Yes, I do,” she said, holding his gaze.

“Good. You trust me?” He inched his index finger down the slope of her neck and lightly touched the material of her robe. The warmth from his hand burned through her gown. A flutter echoed in her stomach and her heart began pounding under the feel of his calloused finger grazing her skin. “You know I do.”

“Then take this bloody thing off; we’ll have more warmth if our skins touch,” he hoarsely insisted. “It’ll get cold soon enough in here with the stove out.” Sandor looked away and shed his tunic, carelessly balling it up and tossing it into the corner.

“Alright,” Sansa reddened, moving away from him to undo the ribbons of her robe. Grinning, he watched her intently, his heated gaze causing her to flush further. Quickly she removed her dressing cover before diving back under the furs.

Clearing his throat, the man got out of bed and wrapped thick silver and white fox fur around her.  “I’m going to change, lass. It makes no difference to me, but being a maid and all, you may want to look away,” Sandor muttered.  Turning his back to her, he hurriedly began unlacing his breeches.

When she realized what he was doing, Sansa colored deeply and swiftly turned toward the wall. The rustling of material was soon followed by litany of curses.

“What is it?”

“Bloody smallclothes.  I hate the thrice damned things.”

It never occurred to her men would feel differently than women about something as mundane as smallclothes. _Why would he dislike them?_ Sansa blushed at his comment but her curiosity got the better of her. “You dislike them? Does that mean you do not normally- _wear_ them?”

Sandor scowled at her. “Fuck no; my breeches are tight enough as it is.”

She had no trouble believing that, as she had often noticed the way his heavily muscled thighs always strained his breeches. “Are you taking them off?” She squeaked out.

“No I’m putting them on. If you’re so bloody curious, Little bird, turn around and have your look.”

Giggling, she kept her face to the wall. “No, I will give you your privacy.” Pausing, she quietly asked,  “But don’t you wear them when you sleep?”

“Never! Why the fuck would I? Tonight I will, since I have company. No need to worry, lass; I’ll keep your innocence intact,” he wickedly bared his teeth into a wide grin.

Ignoring the last part of his remark, she probed further, “Do you-I mean, did you always wear them when you-when you had company?”

Silently the man cursed himself again for his careless remark. The bed dipped low when Sandor settled in beside her. Sansa opened her eyes shyly and peeked at him.

 _Seven save me from maidens and their bloody questions._ Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close to his chest and sighed into her hair. “Warmer now?”

“Yes, thank you,” she snuggled her back against him.

Sandor squinted at her and tipped her chin back to face him. She was so innocent in so many ways that he did not have the heart to tease her further.  “I should have kept my bloody trap shut. In all my years, I never had a woman spend the night in my bed, Sansa. You are the first and the only one, believe that.”

She smiled brightly at his words, and chuckling, he slowly ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

Sansa could not help but think he looked as though he was about to devour her. “Well, yes. But you-“ Sansa paused, her words getting tangled in her mouth once more under his mocking gaze. “You have been with-that is to say, you-“

“Well I bloody well never wanted any wench or camp follower sleeping in my bed, woman,” Sandor growled, his eyes widening at her in disbelief. “There is no way in Seven hells I would have slept beside one of them-they’d have robbed me blind, lass! I got what I paid for and sent them on their way.”

“It is none of my concern,” Sansa tried to affect a carefree tone, though she was secretly pleased by his confession. “I should not question you about things that happened long ago.”

His eyes narrowed at her and Sansa watched his mouth twitched several times before he rasped, “Little bird, I am a damned fool to have even brought it up. Fuck, you deserve better than brute like me,” he resignedly cursed through gritted teeth.  “I’ve no idea how to treat a lady. I’m bound to end up hurting you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Sansa caressed his face, drawing his face to hers.

Sandor’s mouthed twitched again. “Don’t do that, Sansa.” His eyes flashed angrily as he shook his head at her. “I don’t want to be reminded of that night.”

“I will never forget it; for it was the first time I realized how you felt, or at least dared to hope-“

“Well it is entirely different memory for me, so let it go.”

“Alright,” she quietly agreed. “We both are only a bit nervous, which always makes for awkward conversation,” she laughed before softly kissing his cheek. “So, am I correct in concluding that I am the first woman whom you have _allowed_   to sleep in your bed?”

The rain battered against the balcony’s glass panes, causing them both to briefly look toward the window.

“Aye, you are the first and the last,” Sandor muttered low, his deep voice thick with emotion. “Gods forbid, if anything should happen to you, lass, I’ll not take another.”

Sansa knew then he must have given the possibility a fair amount of thought. Sitting up, she held his cheek. “What will you do with your life, then?”

“I’ll fucking spend it cutting down and burning any weirwood tree or image of the Seven in my path, that’s how.” He looked away, twisting one of her curls in between his fingers.

Overwhelmed by his declaration, Sansa pulled him closer and whispered, “Dearest, nothing will happen to either of us. You must believe in our love.”

“Chirping again, are you?” He grumbled, trying to make the tone of his voice lighter.

“No, I would never chirp over such,” she caressed his face and brushed the hair away from his eyes. “The gods have answered my prayers and seen fit to bring us together. We will have a long life ahead of us. Please, let as have no more talk of this while we are thus.”

Sandor pursed his lips together in silent agreement. His scarred mouth was a curiosity to her, at once smooth and rough, tender and hard. She ran her fingers through his beard and inched her way closer to his face.  “I-I want you to know that I appreciate you trying to protect me from-“

Fury clouded his face, and he narrowed his eyes bitterly at her before spitting out, “An unwanted bastard of mine, is that what you mean?”

“That is most certainly _not_ what I meant. Have you no faith in me at all?” Sansa gazed sadly at him. “ _Never_   will a child we bring forth be unwanted or a labeled a bastard, Sandor, no matter the conditions under which it is brought,” she whispered, holding his face in her hands. Leaning her forehead against his, the young woman fought to restrain her tears.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, wiping her tears away with the rough pad of his thumb. “You still want to wed such a brute?”

“Yes, of course I do,” she kissed him. “What I meant to say is that I appreciate you wanting to protect me from any harm giving in to my desires may lead to with the northern lords. You put my wellbeing ahead of your own needs once again. I know it is not easy for you to be in this position we are in now, dearest.”  

Languidly she traced her tongue lightly over his lips before covering his mouth in a deep kiss. “But I only care about what is between us, and our feelings for each other. No one else has a place or a say in the matter; I will not allow it. You must believe me.”

When he pulled away, Sansa watches as his eyes made their way from her face, to her neck and then over her breasts. “Bloody hells, woman, I’ve wanted you more than anything in my entire gods forsaken life.”

The torment and sheer want that resounded in his voice sent a shudder through her. “You long for what is yours for the taking,” She lifted his hand to her face once more and held his gaze as she kissed each of his fingers. “I love you, and I am ready for as much as you wish to share with me, Sandor.”

Hesitatingly the man met her eyes. “You fucking well don’t know what you’re saying, woman,” he grumbled, pulling away slightly while cursing softly under his breath.

She reached out and caressed his jawline with her fingers. After several moments he relented and allowed Sansa to draw his face down toward hers once more.

Softly she brushed her lips against his mouth and stroked the hardened muscles of his low back with the flat of her palms, pulling him flush against her. Sandor tensed from the effort of restraining himself, and finally he raised up on his forearms and deepened the kiss, slowly tracing her tongue with his own.

Moaning softly, Sansa arched into his touch, and tentatively Sandor cupped her breast in his large hand. “Let me take this off; I want to see you,” he rasped against her lips, his breath coming hard and fast.

Slowly his hands fumbled with the straps of her gown and fingered the ribbons, his eyes seeking her permission. The heat of his skin pressed against hers paired with his masculine scent surrounded the young woman, overwhelming her senses.

Dazed, Sansa nodded slightly; the young woman wanted nothing more than to expose herself to him, to feel his gaze caress her along with his hands.

Quickly he untied the lacing and pushed the material free from her upper body, baring her to the waist. Lifting the garment from under her, Sansa moved out of the gown and set it aside, leaving only her smallclothes. She blushed deeply under his gaze, and she softly reached up and stroked his back.

Sandor’s eyes darkened with desire as he stared hungrily at her lying before him. Briefly he hesitated to touch her, until she placed his hands on either side of her waist and sighed contentedly. Ever so slowly he began following the path up to each of her breasts before trailing his hands over her abdomen.

She shuddered at the feel of his skin on hers, hard and rough and so very male. His touch made her feel whole and complete in a way she had never known. Giggling softly, she tipped her head back and reveled in his touch. “You feel so good,” she sighed.

When she glanced up at him, Sansa saw Sandor’s face contort into a pained, almost angry expression. “Sansa, you-gods, woman, you are so very-“ he gasped against her skin, his thickly muscles arms clutching her tightly. “Why do you want this with me?” He choked out before suddenly burying his face into her neck with a deep sigh.

“I love you, and I want to be joined to you in body and heart.  I have _ached_ to be thus with you for so very long, Sandor,” Sansa whispered in his ear before gently nibbling on his lobe. Lightly he began moving his hands over her once more, tracing the curve of her breast before rubbing his thumb over her nipple as his eyes silently asked for her acquiescence once more.

Sansa drew his head down to her chest. “I long for more, my love.”

“Gods but you are perfect, lass.” Lifting his head, he placed wet kisses along from the hollow of her throat to her breastbone.  

Sansa heard him groan and felt the warmth of his breath tickle her skin as he inhaled deeply. He nuzzled into between her breasts almost tenderly, the rough stubble of his beard scratching her delicate flesh before his mouth descended onto each pink bud by turns.

Leisurely, he licked and suckled each of her perfect pink nipples, tracing every detail with his tongue, sending a surge of desire through her that silenced her nervous laughter and soon left Sansa gasping in pleasure.

"You like that, Little bird?" Sandor chuckled before his wet tongue circled her right nipple once more.

"Oh, yes, very much," Sansa moaned, blushing with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. She could feel the exquisite pressure between her legs spreading through her core as he continued gliding his tongue over her.

Bending her head, she began sucking the pulse point just below his ear in time with his ministrations.  Above her, he groaned approvingly, and his teeth lightly bit down on her hardened nipples in response.

A roll of thunder clapped outside, and the ship pitched sharply once more, sending Sandor rolling over onto her. Unable to resist, the man pressed his hardened manhood against her woman’s place with a long moan, all the while hungrily laving at her breast.

Sandor had awakened a longing within Sansa that she did not know she possessed, and instinctively the woman sought for more of him, knowing he alone could fulfill the passion that possessed her body and soul. Gasping, she drew her leg over his thigh and reached into his smallclothes, pressing his buttocks close to her. His thick hardened manhood rested flush against her woman’s place, drawing a throaty cry from Sandor.

“My love, I need you, I need-“ she moaned out, unable to resist the urge to wriggle against him. Sansa knew her behavior was shamelessly wanton but she did not care; she hungered for him, all of him, and she longed to ease the desperate want his touch elicited from her body.

Suddenly he jerked away from her, struggling to catch his breath. “Sansa, if you keep on this way I’ll break.”


	11. The War Between Mind and Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have more honor that you realize, Sandor Clegane,” Sansa giggled. Scoffing, he started to turn away, but she stilled his movements. Tilting his face up to hers, she kissed him deeply while guiding his hands up to the ribbons of her smallclothes once more. “More is the pity.”

Sansa felt Sandor’s body stiffen under her touch as he spoke, and soothingly she ran her palm over his back. Panting and trembling, he rested his face between her breasts and struggled to regain his composure. It was then that she truly understood the depth of Sandor’s desire for her, the desperate yearning to possess her completely, and his fear that he would yet lose her.

“Shh it’s alright,” Sansa slowly combed her fingers through his hair. “I want you, my love. There is no reason for you to hold back any longer.”

“But gods be damned, if you end up with child, Sansa, our firstborn would be styled a bastard. You know he would never be able to hold lands, for all the queen’s jawing. And what if the northern lords try to-he may end up like-” he brokenly rasped against her skin while clinging to her body.

Sandor’s words recalled to Sansa’s mind the day of the genocide of Robert’s bastards. _That is why he is so hesitant to take me: he fears if I become pregnant the northern lords will kill our child and use the circumstances of the birth to contest our rights to Rickon’s gifted lands._

“I have not forgotten that the high lords have bastards spread all over the Seven kingdoms and the shame is left for the innocent to bear. I remember all too well what Joffrey did, and I understand and share your fear.” Gently she caressed his cheek. “I love you for trying to shield me from it. Whenever I become with child-either before or after our wedded day-we will have a living embodiment of our love, brought from our passion and commitment to each other. I will cherish our children, my love, and should anyone threaten us, I know you will keep us safe.”

Sansa ran her hands comfortingly over the hardened muscles spanning Sandor’s back and shoulders. He sighed, and she watched his face twitch sharply several times before he whispered, “Sansa, you know full well that your brothers do not want to see you wed at Winterfell heavy with child. Jon made that clear enough. Under any other circumstances I’d tell him to bugger off and be done with it; but he pled our cause with the queen, and Rickon made a place for our family on his lands. I’ll not go contrary to them, lass.”

“You have more honor that you realize, Sandor Clegane,” Sansa giggled. Scoffing, he started to turn away, but she stilled his movements. Tilting his face up to hers, she kissed him deeply while guiding his hands up to the ribbons of her smallclothes once more. “More is the pity.”

“Bugger that; I want to see you-all of you.” Sandor nipped the soft flesh of her neck before bending his head and kissing each of her breasts on his way down her belly. Quickly he untied the fastenings and tossed the garment aside. Drawing a deep breath, the man leaned back to take in the sight of her naked, lying beside him. “You are the Maiden made flesh, Little bird,” he rasped huskily, moving over her and resting on his forearms.

Blushing deeply, Sansa reached up and teased her fingers over the path of hair that trailed down to his abdomen and disappeared beneath his smallclothes, allowing her fingers to trace the bulge in front. “And you the Warrior,” she whispered, tugging on his smallclothes.

Cursing, Sandor ripped off the lacings and kicked them off in his haste. Sansa laughed softly, and then gasped as her eyes wandered over his powerfully built chest and stomach, down to his equally large manhood. _He is so very big-will he even be able to fit?_ He grinned devilishly at her, and settled beside her once more. The gentle touch of his calloused hand caressing the inside of her thigh chased all doubt from her mind. “I’ll satisfy you but I’ll not take your maiden’s gift, Little bird; would you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed out. Sandor’s eyes flickered up to her own as he rolled over her.  One hand moved under Sansa’s head while another caught her thigh until she was cradled in his arms. “My beautiful little bird,” he whispered, resting his cheek against her own.

Lust coursed through her body as he positioned himself between her thighs. How would he satisfy her? Sansa had no idea what he meant but she was in too much need to question him.  “Please, Sandor, I need you,” she moaned softly into his ear, trembling in anticipation.

Sighing with pleasure, Sandor stroked his manhood against her, parting her folds and pressing down hard while arching his hips as he slowly drew his length over her slit.

The overwhelming intimacy of the act paired with the utter bliss that followed sent a sudden surge of wetness that soaked them both, allowing his manhood to slide easily along her folds to a sensitive spot Sansa had not previously known existed. Not knowing what Sandor expected of her, she arched her back and tried to move against him while she slowly ran her nails over his back.

Gripping her tightly, he drew Sansa’s leg over his thigh and ran his large hand over the curve of her bottom before pulling her flush against him. Pausing, he seemed to struggle inwardly and then resumed caressing her body and licking her taut nipples.  After several moments, Sandor’s mouth sought her lips, kissing Sansa hard while guiding the motion of her hips with his hands. She felt his manhood pulse warm and wet on her woman’s place as he slid his length along her folds once more, causing her to gasp out his name.

“Fuck but you’re ready,” he cursed under his breath. Sandor stilled her hips, the man straining to control himself. “You’ve got me as riled as a greenboy, woman. I’ll never last at this rate.”

Sansa did not know what he meant, nor did she care; in that moment the man she loved was all that mattered to her. Sandor surrounded her, and completely enveloped her senses-from the earthy, masculine scent of his skin to the hard musculature of his body pressed against her own to the curtain of soft dark hair falling over them, shielding them from the world outside-the young woman could hardly say where he left off and she began.

No longer did she give thought to the weather raging outside, the movement of the ship, the consequences of marrying her beloved, or anything other than her betrothed; the whole world was wrapped up in Sandor. Her entire focus was centered solely on the feel of his thick manhood sliding into her most intimate, sensitive place and the storm of passion taking over her body under his caresses. Never had she been so aroused in all her life, and the fear of appearing wanton vanished under his touch. With each thrust of his hips, Sansa called his name and supplicated the gods by turns.

“That’s the way, Little bird; sing for me,” he growled into her ear. Opening her eyes, she saw his face contorted in both ecstasy and vulnerability, and Sansa was startled her to find the powerful, intimidating man that would be her husband was completely lost in her as well. In response, Sansa arched deeper into him, causing Sandor to moan loudly and press her further into the featherbed.

Heat surged in her core while exquisite pleasure built steadily within her with each roll of Sandor’s hips. Desperately she clung to him, the pressure in between her thighs climbing to unbearable heights as he continued to stroke his manhood against the length of her slit.

Frenzied with desire, Sandor’s hips pressed further into her still, and Sansa felt the tip of his manhood at her entrance.  Her inner muscles tightly contracted around him, and Sansa undulated her hips in time with his own her until suddenly her release cascaded over her, sending ecstasy pulsating through her woman’s place and spreading throughout her body.

Sansa looked up and met his lust filled gaze in the middle of her release, and as he stared into her eyes, Sandor curled into her and let out a strangled cry. “Sansa, my love,” he rasped out, his entire body shaking as he rode out his peak. Panting, he collapsed on top of her before rolling her onto her side facing him.

Smiling, she brushed the hair out of his eyes and lovingly traced her hand down the burned side of his face. “I love, you, Sandor,” she whispered.

His face twitched briefly before he covered her mouth in a long kiss, running his tongue over her own. Silently he moved down to her stomach and rested his cheek there. “As I love you, lass,” he rasped quietly, tenderly caressing her body.

Sleep called her to her, and Sansa closed her eyes and reveled in his touch. The warm wetness of his tears fell onto her skin, rousing her. Stroking his hair, she wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered words of love into his ear until his breathing slowed and his body relaxed. Utterly sated, Sansa soon fell asleep to the sound of the rain pouring outside with Sandor still wrapped possessively around her body.

* * *

After their first experience, Sandor loved her in the same manner each night aboard ship. So happy was the young woman to love and be loved in return that she grew more beautiful each day. Her smiles came easy and freely in Sandor's presence, and for his part the man was never far from her side.

She had been sorely sorry to see their privacy come to an end when they started across the north toward Winterfell and remained uncharacteristically quiet most of the way. Daenerys seemed to understand her unhappiness as they traveled in the royal cart.

Sandor preferred to ride pointe with Jon, Grey Worm, Ser Barristan and Lady Brienne, leaving Sansa’s time with him limited to mealtimes and a few brief moments in her tent when the royal coach stopped for the night.

The queen exchanged knowing glances with Sansa when she brightened up at the sight of Sandor riding up to them one afternoon. It did not escape Daenerys’ notice that the fearsome man’s dark eyes smoldered as his gaze fell on Sansa, and that he stayed closer than ever before, scarcely allowing her young niece out of his sight.  “Why do you not ride with your betrothed for a while, Sansa? I am sure all of your adventures have made you well accustomed to travel on horseback.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa smiled softly, remembering their first journey north. “We rode thus the entire way north.”

“Surely the two of you can fit on Lord Clegane’s massive destrier, and I am certain he will have no objection,” Daenerys teased, grinning at Sandor, who huffed and scowled in response.

Blushing, Sansa glanced down. “If he is agreeable to the arrangement, I would like very much to ride with him.”

Sandor, for his part, grunted disinterestedly and turned away from the queen as he lifted Sansa in front of him with ease, only allowing a smile to play upon his lips once they had ridden beyond the view of prying eyes. From that day forward, Sansa spent her time happily riding in front of Sandor, just as she had in the past. The caravan travelled slowly, and it was a full moon’s turn before they finally reached Winterfell.

“There it is, lass,” Sandor rasped in her ear, pointing toward the massive granite walls of the castle. “You’ll never have to leave the north again if you do not wish it; of that I’ll make certain.” 

Rickon and Shireen joined Arya and Gendry in greeting them in the great courtyard. With all of Winterfell gathered to receive them, the sight briefly reminded Sansa of King Robert’s arrival so long ago. Stiffening, she brushed away the tear that escaped her eyes. Sandor seemed to sense her mood, for his large hand settled around her waist and rubbed her belly tenderly in response.

Throughout the festivities that followed, Arya eyed Sandor closely, pursing her lips and gritting her teeth whenever he laid a hand on Sansa. That evening, the young woman tiptoed into Sansa’s room quietly, narrowly missing Sandor in the process.

“Sneaking into my room again, little sister? Just like in the old days!” Sansa laughed, moving over to make room for her. “Shall we spend the evening cuddling under the furs and sharing scary stories?”

“I don’t know about you, but I have enough scary stories to last a lifetime,” Arya grinned, though the sadness behind her smile was not lost on her sister.

“Indeed,” Sansa said softly, placing her hand on Arya’s arm. “It is so good to be home.”

“Yes, Winterfell finally feels like home with you and Jon here once more,” Arya answered hesitantly. “And the best surprise is yet to come.”

Sensing her sister was attempting to steer the conversation into more dangerous territory, Sansa patted her hand. “Dearest, speak freely: tell me what troubles you.”

“Sansa, you know how I feel about the Hound,” Arya spit out. “It isn’t that he was so bad to me, necessarily, but still,” she paced the room. “Tell me you love him, Sansa. Tell me you are not marrying him out of your misguided sense of honor or duty!”

“I love him, Arya, with all my heart,” Sansa smiled at her. “He cares for me, not as a Stark, but as a woman grown. He is good to me. I know after all you have been through with him, it is hard for you to accept him as your goodbrother. I hope in time you will come to care for him.”

Heaving a sigh, Arya scowled at her, a slight grin betraying her face, “Well, if you truly want to wed the ugly brute, that’s your business. When do you plan of having the ceremony? Rickon keeps asking me.”

“The queen said the day after tomorrow is agreeable to her.” Glancing over her sister’s form, Sansa’s eyes widen. “Arya, dearest-are you with child?”

Arya moved fast and covered Sansa’s mouth just as she squealed. “Yes, I am-hush now! We want to keep it a secret until after your wedded day.”

“It looks like we arrived just in time, then,” Sansa beamed, resting her hand on Arya’s swollen belly. “The wolves truly are returning to Winterfell at last!”

* * *

When he heard the door to Sansa’s solar latch closed, Sandor slipped in through the adjoining room and crawled into bed beside her. “It’s bloody cold up here,” he growled, lifting her on top of him. “I hope the lad put plenty of fireplaces in our keep.”

Smiling, she snuggled down under the furs and rested her cheek on his chest. “I have the best news, Sandor but it is a secret, so you must promise not to breathe a word of it.”

Sandor grunted, “The wolf bitch is going to have a pup. Not such a secret, that.”

Crestfallen, Sansa pouted, “How did you know?”

He laughed at her. “Not all men are as daft as your brothers. I bloody well know a pregnant woman when I see one, Little bird. I watched Cersei whelp three of Jaime’s, you’ll recall.”

“I had forgotten that,” Sansa smiled up at him. “With the blessing of the old gods, soon we will have our own,” she whispered against his skin before falling fast asleep.

“Aye Little bird, that we will.”


	12. His Own Blood as Hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very thought of Sansa being subjected to some antiquated religious rite sent sickening fury roiling through his body. He would much rather offer up his own blood than that of his beautiful little bird. A wild idea settled in his mind.

Sandor stared out the window at the large snowflakes gently falling on the balcony in the light of early morning. As a soldier and sworn shield, for most of his life the man rose at dawn for training, but as of late the lush feel of Sansa curled up in his arms has brought an irresistible appeal to lounging in bed.

The events of the previous night weighed heavily on him as he ran his hands through her long hair. Sansa only snuggled down closer and sighed quietly in her sleep. Looking down, Sandor saw during the night she kicked the furs off of her exquisite body, all modesty forgotten in peaceful dreams.

Frowning, his gaze rested on the deep purple scars crisscrossing Sansa’s back, a visible reminder of one instance in which he failed to protect her. Setting his jaw, Sandor silently swore he would never allow any harm to come to her ever again. “You’ll only know happiness all your days with me, Little bird,” he whispered into her hair, carefully covering her chilled skin. As dawn crept across the bed, Sandor closed his eyes and mulled over his conversation with Jon and Rickon.

* * *

When Arya slipped into Sansa’s room the night before, Sandor ducked back into his own quarters, quickly dressed in his usual black tunic and breeches and then headed toward the anteroom. “Goodbrother, come and drink to Sansa’s health,” Jon smiled and waved him over to the divan, casting a glance toward Rickon and Shireen, who were seated nearby.

“Gentlemen, please excuse me but I must retire. We have a long journey tomorrow,” she smiled at Sandor, who nodded her direction with a grunt as he drained his cup.

Rickon rose from his seat and kissed her hand. “I’ll be up in a bit to join you, wife.”

“Please, take your ease, husband,” Shireen shyly smiled at him before leaving the room. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

“Goodnight,” Jon and Rickon called after her. Lady Brienne bowed, turned and followed Shireen up the stairs.

Sandor rolled his eyes and poured another glass of wine. Once his young wife disappeared from view, Rickon approached the two men. “Sandor, please, Jon and I must speak with you privately at once.”

“What’s this now? You men finally realized I’m not fit for your sister?” He chuckled darkly.

“No, Sandor, nothing like,” Jon gestured to an overstuffed chair next to the fire. “Sit down.”

“I’ll pass. Looks like mayhap I should stand for this one,” he scowled, finishing his second glass in one gulp.

“There is a pressing matter which we must discuss before your wedded day.” Rickon began. “So as not to spoil the happiness she has found with you, I have kept this development from Sansa.”

Worry cut through the scarred man like a dull sword, nearly driving the air from his lungs. “Just get to the point, boy.”

“As I’m sure you suspected the northern lords were most displeased by Sansa’s betrothal. Many of the first families hoped for an alliance with the Starks by winning her hand. Several of the noble houses are insisting-“

“That I’m too lowborn for your family?”  Sandor snorted, filling his tankard. “Fairly obvious, that.”

“I am afraid their concern is far more insulting to you than that, Sandor,” Jon shook his head. “They insist you forced yourself on Sansa so we would be obligated to agree to the union. The men fear you are, that is to say, they have expressed worry that you take after-“

“Don’t even say that name to me! Those bastards brought up my thrice damned brother, so that is that the way of it?” Sandor bellowed before slamming his fist against the table. “Is that was passes for so-called honor in the north? To accuse a man of rape solely because of his family name? Buggering bastards, the lot of them! Tell me who dares say such a thing!”

Ghost moved beside his master and lay at his feet while Shaggydog softly growled from his place in front of the fire.

Rickon’s Captain of the Guard, Lady Brienne, entered the room and cautiously stepped forward, only to be waved away. “It is alright, Lady Brienne.”

“Sandor, be assured that both of us share your outrage. Jon and I have discussed this situation at length, and we believe this is the only means the houses have to rightfully object to your lordship over them. I mean to punish the men who dared circulate such an idea,” Rickon placed his hand on Sandor’s shoulder.

“You know I would never believe you capable of hurting Sansa, nor would Arya, for that matter,” Jon offered quietly.

Sandor knew that much was true; pregnant or not, if the wolf bitch thought he raped her sister she would have carved his liver the moment he stepped foot in Winterfell. Gritting his teeth, the man turned away, struggling to control his fury. “I don’t understand.”

“The accusation legally calls into question the rightfulness of your place as Lord of the Frostlands.“

“Frostlands?” _How could he bloody well be lord of a place he never even heard of?_ “And where are the Frostlands?”

“That is what the northerners have taken to calling the lands closest to the Wall since the Others were destroyed,” Jon answered. “Your keep is the closest to the Frostfangs and the last dwelling before Castle Black.”

“Bleak country, that.”

“It is not as you remember, Sandor; with the arrival of spring, it has blossomed into a thriving alpine forest.”

“Never mind all that now,” Sandor barked, exasperated.  “Just bloody well get on with it: tell me how this affects Sansa. If they hurt her in any way, I swear on every one of your fucking weirwood trees-”

“Without proof to the contrary, the lords may pressure the Iron throne into revoking your lordship,” Jon interrupted.

“Sansa could very well lose her right to the new keep, as well as her portion of Winterfell,” Rickon added gravely.

“Daenerys would never go along with it, nor would I,” Jon reassured Sandor, filling his cup. “But to ease the way for Rickon, I would ask-“ the young man hesitated, taken aback by the wrathful glint returning to Sandor’s eyes.

“What? Out with it!” Sandor spat out through gritted teeth as he sunk down into the chair and rubbed his head, struggling to still his anger long enough to hear his future goodbrothers out. 

“There are several ways this can be settled irrevocably,” Rickon slowly began. “Witnesses may be called upon for the bedding.”

That brought Sandor to his feet. “What the fuck are you suggesting? I-“

“It’s usually the guests who wait outside the bridal chamber and listen through the door,” Jon hurriedly explained. “It is a northern tradition.”

“Well, prince or not, you can just go bugger that idea,” Sandor’s face twisted into a murderous glare. “No one is shaming your sister! I’ll not tolerate any so-called witnesses to our wedded night-seven bloody hells!”

Rickon and Jon exchanged glances, but Sandor was not finished.  “I’ve no intention of going along with any bedding, either, you’d best believe that. Any man who so much as reaches for my wife’s clothes will have his throat slit from ear to ear.” Pausing, he drew a deep breath and turned to Rickon. “I hope you have another idea, boy.”

“I do. You can offer the bed linens as evidence after your wedded night,” Rickon quietly replied, handing Sandor a thick woolen gray cloth embroidered with the Stark direwolf. “Here, this is a wedded linen for Sansa,” the young lord’s face reddened as he placed it in Sandor’s hand. “You may return it after the wedded night.”

Jon stepped forward. “It would merely be a formality, I assure you. We would never inspect it, you have my word.”

Sandor spat on the ground. “Here’s what I think of your bloody formalities.”

“Should you refuse, the lords may insist on obtaining the proof from a maester and a septon of their choosing.” Rickon replied, his voice rising in anger.  

“Any man who tries that will find himself strangled with his own guts,” he snarled, his harsh voice brutal and cold. “I’d take her away from here before I stand for that and cut down any man who tried to stop me.”

“Is that what you want for Sansa?”

“No; of course not,” he sighed. “So either I willing offer up proof her maidenhood, or else risk Sansa being made to endure a physical examination by some old perverted fool. Bloody hells.”

If it where any other maiden in question, he would have laughed outright but the very thought of Sansa being subjected to some antiquated religious rite sent sickening fury roiling through his body. He would much rather offer up his own blood than that of his beautiful little bird. A wild idea settled in his mind, and Sandor ran his hands through his hair before smashing the crystal wine tankard against the table in a black rage, all the while shouting curses at the gods.

Lady Brienne nervously gripped the hilt of her sword while Jon and Rickon watched him warily. Shaggydog growled in response and settled at Rickon’s feet. “Sandor, I understand your anger. This is degrading for the both of you, and especially for Sansa. I would have gutted any man who asked this of my Shireen.”

Jon nodded. “I am certain Queen Daenerys will find it most unseemly.”

“She certainly will,” Sandor muttered, remembering that the queen went so far as to encourage Sansa to bed him before the wedding.

“Unfortunately it is necessary that Jon allow it in order to secure the support of the north.”

“Try to remember that it is for Sansa and for the future of your family,” Jon added. “By doing so you will protect her legacy and that of your children.”

He paced the room furiously, not even bothering to stem the blood pouring from the deep gash in his hand. “Aye, alright then; I can at least do that much for her and for our pups,” Sandor assented shortly before he turned and  angrily stalked out of the room.

“Sandor, you’re hurt. Please, let Elder brother tend the wound,” Jon called after him.

“You men let me be, gods damn it!” He shouted back, storming out of the castle. “And don’t send Brienne after me, either! I need to clear my head.” Once hidden inside the stables, Sandor wrapped his hand in the wedded linen, mounted Stranger and rode out into the night.

Later, Sandor carefully folded the stained cloth and placed it in his locker before he snuck back into Sansa’s room. She was sitting up in bed, brushing out her hair as she waited for him. Pulling back the furs, she patted the pillow with a shy smile. “Come, my love.”

Crawling into bed beside her, he carefully concealed his hand and pulled her close. “It’s bloody cold up here. I hope the lad put plenty of fireplaces in our keep.” Sighing happily, she contentedly snuggled against his chest, and Sandor soon found he could not bring himself to tell her about the conversation with Rickon and Jon.

“I have the best news, Sandor but it is a secret, so you must promise not to breathe a word of it.” Sansa whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

Distractedly he blurted out, “The wolf bitch is going to have a pup. Not such a secret, that.”

“How did you know?”

Sandor sensed she was disappointed that he already knew, so he muttered something about having seen Cersei with child. And then Sansa mentioned a dream Sandor had never dared hope for: children of their very own. “With the blessing of the old gods, soon we will have our own.”

Hearing the little bird express her desire to have his children flooded his heart with emotion. “Aye Little bird, that we will,” he managed to choke out before the hot tears stinging his eyes spilled onto his cheeks.

Since returning to Winterfell, Sandor spent each night in her bed and yet the man had yet to love her in all the ways in which he longed, doggedly denying his own need for the sake of her honor, his desire for her affections warring with his need to protect her.

After the passionate ways they spent their nights at sea, Sandor meant to take her as soon as they reached Winterfell, but at hearing her words, the man determined he would do anything to protect his beloved Sansa: deny himself, preserve her maidenhead, even offer up a wedded linen stained with his own blood if it meant her safety and the security of their future family.

 _The little bird said she wants to start a family with you, Dog. She prays for children, hers and mine-pups of our very own._ Sansa was far too beautiful and sweet natured for the likes of him, not meant to wed and bear the pups of the scarred man who guarded her. Caressing her soft cheek,  Sandor stared at her in amazement as she fell asleep in his arms, hardly able to fathom this lovely, gentle young woman truly loved and desired _him_ , the Hound, a coarse, brutal warrior who inspired fear in all who crossed his path.

During the third quarter of the moon, Sansa stirred in his arms. Leisurely she began kissing his neck and allowed her hands to roam over his body. He gripped her wrists tightly and gently rebuffed her, whispering that they would wait for their wedded night.

“Sandor, your hand!” Sansa gasped, carefully running her fingers over the bandaging. “How did this happen?”

Shrugging, he looked away from her.

“Did you wrap this yourself?”

 He nodded. “Made a mess of it, too.”

“Here, let me redress that for you,” she insisted, pulling on his tunic. Immediately Sansa was out of bed, lighting the candles and rummaging through her dresser drawer for supplies.

Sandor watched her work with a mixture of amusement and pride. Softly she met his eyes as she cleaned the wound. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I’d bloody well rather not, but I suppose I have to.” He sighed before relating the details of his conversation with Rickon and Jon.

Sansa’s eyes darkened but she remained quiet. When she finished tying the new bandage, she kissed his hand. “Is that why you do not wish to love me at this moment?”

His throat went dry. “Aye, lass, it is.” Sandor already doubted his ability to restrain himself from taking her maidenhead. Necessity now demanded it, and as overcome as he was by her earlier declaration, he knew he could not trust himself to maintain control with her just yet.

“Oh, Sandor, I understand, and I love you all the more for it,” she whispered, gently kissing him. “You would go so far as to deny yourself even in this just to protect me.”

“I would do far more than that, if it meant keeping you and our pups safe,” he grunted, swiftly lifting his tunic over Sansa’s head and gathering her close in his arms.

* * *

Sansa moaned softly and buried her face in his chest, stirring him from his thoughts.  Looking down at his little bird, with her pale cheek pressed into his skin and her fiery hair spread over them, Sandor thought Sansa was never more beautiful than she was first thing in the morning. Grunting softly, he gently repositioned her and closed his eyes once more, reveling in the soft floral scent of her skin and hair.

After spending the better part of sunrise in quiet contemplation, Sandor was convinced the northern lords never intended on accepting their marriage or any offspring brought from their union. _For all the bloody titles the dragon queen had bestowed on me, they still view me as the Hound, and yet the little bird inexplicably was able to look past our many differences and love me anyway. Sansa is mine, and those buggering bastards can all go fuck themselves with a hot poker for all I care,_ he swore under his breath, caressing the little bird’s shoulders.

 _Gods be damned, I’m a lord now, and I best start using the title for her and our pups. The Little bird is no longer my mistress-Sansa will soon be my wedded wife in the sight of gods and men, and anyone who suggests she was compelled into our marriage will taste my steel._ Gritting his teeth, Sandor watched his beloved sleeping snugly in his arms, peacefully oblivious to his dark thoughts.

Pushing away his black musings, he gently stroked her back until she stirred and sleepily smiled at him. “Good morning love. What time is it?”

“It’s just starting to get light-maybe an hour after dawn.”

“Hmm,” she burrowed her face further into him. “Why are you awake so early?”

He shrugged. “Habit, I guess.” Running his thumb over her full red lips, he rasped, “Go back to sleep. I barred the door last night so no one would come busting in on us.”

“What of the maid?” Sansa yawned, stretching out her long limbs. “She will want to ready me for the trip to our keep soon enough. It is a half a day’s ride, after all.”

“Bugger that nonsense,” he chuckled. “Not for us; mayhap a half-day’s ride for the queen and your goodsister in a buggering cart! You will ride with me on Stranger; it shouldn’t be more than three hours.”

He felt Sansa smiling against his skin. “I do love riding with you; still, the maid is due within the hour.”

“She can bugger off for a bit while I enjoy my Little bird.”

Sansa rose into a sitting position astride his lap and smiled mischievously at him. Always the portrait of a perfect lady in public, Sandor never suspected his Sansa would be so uninhibited with him. His blood boiled knowing this side of her is one that only he will see, that she will forever reserve for him alone. “If you truly mean to enjoy me, we must not waste another moment, my love.”

Nestling his manhood against the delicate folds of her woman’s place, Sansa stared into his eyes and smiled while seductively rolling her hips against his cock. _Fuck, she is already so wet for me._ The sight of his beautiful bird unabashedly gazing into his eyes while her beautiful body moved over him was enough to make him lose control. Trembling, he tightly gripped her hips and stilled her movements, the man fighting the overwhelming urge to thrust deep inside her. “No, not like this, Little bird. I’ll never keep you a maid if you keep this up, and you know that you must, lass.”

“I know,” she whispered into his ear as she continued to thrust her hips against him.

"You don't play fair." Panting, Sandor flipped her over on to her back. She let out a startled gasp that dissolved into a moan as he began languidly gliding his manhood over her wet center. When Sansa peaked, she allowed him to slip inside further than ever before, his manhood only stopped short by her maiden’s veil. The tightness that contracted around his cock instantly pulled his release from his body, and Sandor groaned deeply into her hair. Smiling, she stared into his eyes as he came and whispered, “Tomorrow, my love.”

Afterward Sandor clung to her, unwilling to end their closeness. “You ought not to have done that. You’ll be mine for true on the morrow.”

“I am yours _now_ , dearest,” she breathed into his ear before nibbling on his pulse point. “Come, it is time we ready ourselves to see our new keep. I can hardly wait!” Sansa beamed and clasped her hands like a little girl. “Have you thought of a name for our new home? All the great houses have them, you know.”

“Aye I have,” he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Well, what did you come up with?”

“Winterfrost Keep,”  Sandor muttered, worried she may not like it. “What say you to that?”

“It is a perfect name for our family home!” Sansa laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Winterfrost Keep it shall be, then. Let us hurry and dress so we can tell Rickon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bedding practice in my story is based in ancient Norse society when the couple went to bed together in the presence of witnesses, who left before any sexual action began but the fact that the couple had gone to bed together was firmly established. The wedded linen is my take on the Medieval practice of saving the marriage bed linens as “proof” of a woman’s virginity. It is still observed in some cultures.


	13. Love Knows No Bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen to me now: I never want to hear you say that you don’t have a choice again, Sansa,” the man’s harsh voice grated, while Sandor struggled to steady his voice as a rush of anger swept over him. “Gods damn it, you will always have a choice, and anyone who says otherwise will taste my steel.”

The maid arrived not long after the couple awakened, just as Sansa predicted. The rattling of the doorknob startled the slumbering pair. Clutching a blanket around his waist, Sandor leapt out of bed and ducked into the closet.

A weathered voice chimed out from the hallway, “Milady, the door is latched. If you’d be so good as to let me in, I have your bathwater ready for the tub.”

Sansa hurriedly kicked Sandor’s clothing and boots under the bed and then padded over to the dresser. “Coming, Murren.”

Cursing, Sandor tossed out the nearest robe and then yanked the doors closed once more.

He heard Sansa giggle mischievously as she scurried over to retrieve it. Peering through the louvered slats, Sandor watched as she hastily wrapped her robe and then unlatched the door. “Forgive me; Arya must have locked it when she left last night. Do come in.”

At hearing her lie, the man snorted loudly. Fortunately for him, the two stout scullery maids set down heavy metal buckets on the stone floor at the same moment, the resulting scraping noise masking his indiscretion.

Frowning, Sansa shot a look towards the closet. “I noticed a light snow fell overnight. I hope it did not make your morning routine too difficult.”

“Have you forgotten, milady? I was born north of the Wall and a small flurry is but a trifle to me. The weather is quite fine now.” The old woman’s eyes crinkled in the corners as she filled the bath and set out fresh linens. “Off to visit your new home this morn with your lord, I hear?”

“Oh, yes, we are most excited to see it,” Sansa enthused. “I must make haste. We cannot keep the queen waiting.”

“Aye lass, I should say not. A lovely home it is, though not what you’re used to, if you don’t mind this old lady’s opinion.”

 _Damned cold in this bloody closet,_ Sandor shivered, squinting to see through the narrow closet slats. _Will that buggering old bat never leave?_

“You have spoken freely with me since childhood, I beg you not to stop now!” Sansa gaily laughed. “It matters not to me, Murren, if the keep is, as you say, ‘not what I’m used to’.”

The old woman stoked the embers and added more wood to the fireplace. “Tis only that a fine a lady as Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter is not meant for a small keep, but I suppose that is the least of what comes from wedding a Clegane.”

Sansa sharply turned to face her. “I would gladly return to living in the wild with Lord Clegane if it meant we would never be parted,” she frostily replied. “You may go.”

Murren sniffed. “As long as he pleases you, milady.”

The young woman tilted her head at the maid questioningly. “Why should you dislike him?”

“No reason; it’s just you young folks have different ways of doing things is all. Never mind me, lass.” Murren hurried toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your bath, then, milady, and in a quarter hour I’ll return with a light meal to break your fast. Don’t want to fill up too much before traveling a’ horseback.”

Sansa smiled gently and nodded.  “That is very thoughtful of you, Murren.”

“I’ll be up direct,” the maid shuffled out the door.

Giggling, Sansa latched the door as Sandor emerged from his cramped hiding place. “For fuck’s sake, I thought that old parrot would never shut her hole.”

“Sandor,” she chided, rubbing her hands over his arms. “She is an old woman and partial to her own opinions, though I am sorely disappointed in her just now. My love, you are so cold!”

“All that bloody soft living in the capital has ruined me,” he groused when she pulled the furs around his shoulders. “Best get used to people not liking your lord dog of a husband around here, lass.”

“Never,” she whispered, leading him to the steaming tub. “I care not for what any of them think. Come here,” she beckoned shyly. “My dog is in need of a bath.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Little bird,” he growled, lifting her into his arms and nipping at her neck. “A man can only take so much. After tomorrow you can bathe me all you like.”

“Sandor, please, let us be serious a moment. I wish to say something to you,” she rested her hand on his face.

“What is it now?” He muttered before kissing his way to her shoulder.

Reddening, Sansa looked down. “You must forgive me, my love.”

“For what?”

Twisting the sash of her robe, she hesitated. “For tempting you so. It is very unfair, especially since you have been so good about everything. It is very wicked of me.”

Howling, Sandor laughed long and hard, and sunk down onto the bed clutching his sides.

“Sandor, hush!”

When he sobered up, he pulled her on to his lap and resumed kissing her shoulder. “Regret giving me a taste of you earlier, is that it, Little bird?”

“No,” she whispered shyly, her voice barely audible. “It was wonderful-everything about it is just wonderful.”

“Aye, that it is,” he agreed, settling her against his chest. “Then what is this nonsense you’re chirping?”

“It just seems so wrong for me to tease you when you are trying to restrain yourself. I know that is why you have not allowed me to touch you intimately-“

Choking down his laughter, Sandor only nodded. “You have the right of it there. I’d never manage to keep you a maiden if you touched my cock, or I your sweet cunt.”

“Sandor,” she scolded, her cheeks brightly coloring at his coarse words.

“You know you’re marrying a dog, don’t look so scandalized.” More seriously, he added, “Sansa, don’t break your heart over it, lass,” he tipped her face up to his with a grin. “I can take care of my own needs and after tomorrow we’ll never need hold back again.”

The man knew that was not entirely true; for all his teasing about maids on their first night together,  he had never bedded a maiden, only whores, and Sandor knew it would take all of his willpower to hold back once she his wife in truth.

Lowering her eyes, Sansa blushed deeply once more and she shifted uncomfortably in his lap. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

A spark of concern shot through his mind. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, dearest, I-“

“What?” He barked out irritably when she paused.

She buried her face in his chest. “Well, I guess you could say I felt a bit, um, stretched,” her muffled reply felt warm against his skin.

“You don’t say?” He shouted out another harsh laugh in response.

“Sandor, be serious for a moment, please. I know I should not have tempted you,” Sansa began sadly. “But after what you told me the Northern lords are about, I just needed to feel even closer to you, and by loving you in such a way, I did.”

“Sansa,” he murmured into her hair as he crushed her against his bare chest. “I don’t want to hear any more such talk. You need not explain yourself to me; being with you is the Seven heavens for me, lass.”

He gripped her chin in between his fingers, his tone turning dangerous and low. “Sansa, I’d cut down every last one of those bastards if it meant keeping you from enduring their buggering accusations. They scraped that bloody nonsense about us right off the stable floor. I mean to have the men’s necks that started it.”

“I did not want our marriage to start out in such a way,” Sansa softly murmured, fidgeting with the ends of her sash. “Will we never have peace?”

“Put it out of your mind for now, lass. Go on and get ready. I’ll clean up in my quarters and come back for you.”

Sansa turned her back to him, disrobed and stepped into the tub. “I’ll be ready by half past the hour and then we can have our breakfast together.”

Swallowing hard, Sandor gaped at her lush body bared before him. “Bloody hells but you tempt me,” he gathered her in his arms and kissed her, his mouth hard and demanding against her own. She matched his passion in return, and Sandor roughly set her down in the bath before he turned and rushed out of the room.

After they broke their fast, Sandor led Sansa by the hand into his quarters. Tilting her chin up to him, he stared into her vivid blue eyes for a long moment, searching her mood. Softly she returned his gaze and smiled up at him expectantly. “What is it, Sandor?”

“About Jon and Rickon’s proposal, lass, I believe your brothers will want an answer today,” he rasped low, tenderly stroking her cheek with his knuckles while the other arm snaked around her waist. “Before we go to them, tell me truly: do you wish to go along with it?”

Sadly she lowered her eyes. “I do not believe I have much of a choice in the matter, Sandor. If I refuse, the consequences could be quite dire,” she shivered, thinking of Robb. “I would not have your lordship challenged over this matter.”

Sandor gently nudged her chin up to meet his own once more. “Listen to me now: I never want to hear you say that you don’t have a choice again, Sansa,” the man’s harsh voice grated, all the while Sandor struggled to steady his voice as a rush of anger swept over him. “Gods damn it, you will _always_ have a choice, and anyone who says otherwise will taste my steel.”

The little bird frowned worriedly and lifted her hand to his cheek. “Thank you, my love,” she whispered while reverently tracing her fingers over his scars. “Quite frankly, I am torn, Sandor. Rickon and Jon have done so much for us, building us a keep, giving you lordship and our own lands-it seems like a small thing to do for them in return.”

“Might be.” Gently he stilled her hand and stared into her eyes.

Sansa nearly recoiled under the intensity of his flinty gaze. “But I do not need to tell you that tradition or no, the very notion of a wedded linen is utterly humiliating.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor snarled, “Say the word, Little bird, and I’ll throw that thrice damned linen into the fire. If you don’t want to go along with tradition, then I’ll bloody well see your wishes honored and fuck the rest of them all to the Seven hells.”

“I-I cannot go along with this tradition,” she whispered sadly. “I just cannot bear it.”

“Humph,” he snorted. “Might be you’ll go along with my plan, then.”

Sansa’s eyes widened as he handed her the blood stained cloth. “A Stark wedded linen? Sandor, is this stain from your injury last night?”

“Aye it is, though no one but us need know it.” Sheepishly he looked down at her through the curtain of hair that fell over his face. “I never had any intention of allowing you to go through with such a fucking barbaric custom, lass, believe that.”

She stared incredulously at him. “You deliberately cut yourself so you could give _this_ to my brothers instead of our bedding?”

Shrugging, Sandor averted his eyes while tracing a line on the floor with the toe of his boot. “Something like that.”

Sansa let out a short sob and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Sandor Clegane, more than words can ever express. The gods have blessed me hundredfold with you.”

“Bugger that. Don’t work yourself up over a nothing, Little bird,” he grumbled, his mouth twitching into a grin.

“It is a very dear gesture, my love,” Sansa insisted. “When our children are old enough, I will point out the the scar on your hand and tell them how you were injured protecting my honor.”

“Damn it, you’ll do no such thing,” Sandor muttered low, the scarred man secretly pleased to hear her speak of their future family.

Laughing merrily, Sansa kissed his hand. “Come dearest, let us tell Rickon we will provide a wedded linen.”

“This stays between us, Little bird,” he sharply intoned before bending his head and allowing his teeth to graze the tender skin below her ear. “Swear it.”

“I swear it, my love,” she whispered against his mouth.

Clearing his throat, he gently moved away from her. “Are you certain you have enough furs? It’s going to be bloody cold riding on Stranger further north.”

“Well, I have one but I suppose another would not hurt,” Sansa turned back to her bedroom.

When she was out of sight he hurriedly dug through his locker and retrieved a rough spun pouch. “Get the fox fur hat I gave you, lass,” Sandor called as he lifted held up the intricate piece to the light filtering in through the balcony doors.

“Yes, that is a good idea. Forgive me but I think I will change my gown in favor of the suede and fur riding outfit you gave me for my seventeenth nameday. It will only take a moment.”

“Go on then,” he grunted, smiling with satisfaction. The tiny highly polished driftwood ring glinted like pure gold in the sunlight, much in the same way as Elder brothers’ cups. By the time Sandor heard footsteps approaching, he barely managed to stuff the ring into his breast pocket before Sansa appeared in the doorway.

Appreciatively he turned her around and drank in the sight of her beautiful figure swathed in the deep grey suede leather breeches and matching long coat trimmed in silver fox fur. “You look good enough to eat.”

Preoccupied with grappling with the front of her coat, she merely nodded. “Please dearest, help me with these fastenings.”

“For fuck’s sake, come here,” he breathed, tenaciously avoiding her eyes as he deftly worked the silver direwolf toggles through their loops.

“Sandor, what troubles you?”

“Nothing woman; drop it.” A small smile twitched the corners of his mouth, belying his gruff manner, a fact which did not escape Sansa’s notice.

She lightly cuffed his chin with a curious smile. “Dearest, what are you about? You look just like Ser Pounce the day he ate three of Tommen’s talking birds.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Sansa, Sandor, I hope this chilly morning finds you both well rested,” Daenerys called from Rickon’s solar. Puzzled, the couple warily entered the room to see Jon, Shireen and Rickon already seated.

Sandor glanced between Jon and Rickon’s stern faces and then raised his brow at Sansa.

A sinking apprehension settled over the young woman as she curtseyed low before the queen. “Forgive us, Your Grace-we understood we were to meet your party in the stables. I hope we did not keep you waiting.”

The queen smiled and gestured to the sitting area. “Not at all dearest. Please, do come in and join us.”

“Is there a problem with the wedded ceremony?” Sandor’s gravelly voice resounded loudly against the granite walls of the large room.

“No, Lord Clegane. Jon and I have a few matters to attend with Lord Arnoff Karstark, however, and will be unable to accompany you to your new home.”

Turning to Sansa, she smiled and patted her hand. “Do not worry, niece. Tomorrow we shall have your wedded feast at your home; what say you to that?”

“We would be honored,  my queen,” Sansa bowed and then beamed at Sandor. “Forgive me, I thought you wished to host the Northern lords here.”

“You are of course welcome to do that as well, if you wish, Sansa,” Rickon smiled at her.

“Oh, no, we would love to have it at our new home, wouldn’t we, Sandor?”

Grunting, he nodded and poured himself a glass of wine.

“Sansa, Sandor, tell me truly: who do you wish to have at your wedded feast?” Daenerys asked quietly. “It is your wedded day, and I will not allow it to turn into another occasion for political jousting. I certainly remember well what it is to have a wedded day where you hardly know anyone present, your guests attending solely for the sake of building or maintaining alliances. I would not ask the same of you.”

“Our family and friends from King’s Landing, Your Grace: Grey Worm, Lady Brienne and her boy. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah; Osha and Hodor. However I would prefer it be kept small, Your Grace,” Sandor answered quietly. “What say you, Little bird?”

“Elder brother has agreed to wed us. The Reeds, the Mormonts and the Manderlys,” Sansa added after a moment of thought. “Sam and Gilly Tarly and their children.”

Jon smiled broadly. “You came up with the same names as Rickon and I, Sis.”

“Excellent.  Lord Rickon, see that the invitations are delivered at once.”

“They are already en route, my queen,” Rickon bowed. “I sent the ravens upon Sandor and Sansa’s arrival. The families were already well on their way to Winterfell for the council this evening.”

“Council-what council?” Sandor snarled low. “What the fuck is going on?”

Sansa placed her hand on his arm. “Pray, forgive my betrothed. He and I received rather distressing news last night.”

“So Jon informed me,” Daenerys said icily. “Do not fret, Sansa, Jon and I will handle the matter today, you have my word. You are family and I will not stand for these ridiculous allegations and demands. It is wholly intolerable.”

The queen drew a deep breath and smiled brightly at the couple. “It would make me most unhappy if this should mar the joy of your wedded day. You two, please, go with Rickon and Shireen and entrust this matter to me. Enjoy your new home, dearest,” Daenerys kissed Sansa on both cheeks and patted Sandor on the arm.

Sandor bowed low and laid his sword at her feet. “Thank you, my queen.”

Sansa smiled through her tears, and Daenerys wiped her cheeks tenderly. “Off with you all,” she waved them away.

Rickon turned to them and said, “Sandor, I gave you the location last night. Shall Shireen and I meet you there?”

“Aye, that suits me fine,” Sandor assented as he led Sansa out of the solar.

* * *

Sansa and Sandor spent the time in quiet contemplation as they traveled the winding mountain roads leading to their keep, well ahead of Rickon’s host. By noontime, they entered a small alpine valley dotted with wildflowers. “Sandor, look! I cannot believe how the area has blossomed!”

“True enough; I never thought I’d see anything other than snow and White Walkers up in these parts.”

Alder, white pine and golden quivering aspen trees adorned the high country leading to the granite Frostfangs. A mighty cobalt glacial river thundered rapids from the Bay of Ice beside the trail.

Small log dwellings soon came into view and many of the villagers stood alongside the road, eager to greet their new lord and lady. “The old god’s blessing be upon Winterfell’s daughter! The wolves have returned at last! Blessed be the marriage of Lord and Lady Clegane!”

“Bloody hells,” Sandor muttered and shook his head, though the man was pleased that the Little bird was thoroughly enjoyed their welcoming. Laughing out loud, Sansa waved her hands as she returned their greeting: “The old gods bless and keep you!”

“And you, Lord and Lady Clegane,” came the reply. A small smile played across his ruined mouth in spite of himself as he nodded and waved at the villagers.

“Sandor isn’t it lovely?”

“As you say, Little bird.”

The dense evergreen forest gave way to a clearing beside the river, and before long a large three story log and river rock keep appeared out of the granite face of the mountainside.

“Oh, Sandor, just look at it!” Sansa cried out before giving way to happy tears. “We are right beside the Bay of Ice-isn’t it lovely?”

“A fine home indeed,” Sandor whistled low, swallowing down his tears as he pulled Sansa closer and spurred Stranger onward toward their new dwelling.

 

 


	14. Winterfrost Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many times during her years of captivity, she repeated the mantra: I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell; and almost immediately Sansa was convinced that she would be stronger still within the walls of Winterfrost Keep.
> 
> The imposing log structure beckoned to her and to her amazement Sansa discovered she soon felt that she never wanted to leave, and the disappointment they would soon go back to Winterfell already began pricking the back of her mind. How is it possible I am so attached to the place when I have not even been inside?

Frothy whitecaps churned up the bay with each glacial gust of wind. The snow tipped Frostfangs stood resplendent against the deep blue swells of the Bay of Ice, providing a wild and rugged backdrop for their new home. Sansa beheld the scenic beauty in wonderment.

Shivering in delight, the young woman inhaled deeply, taking in the sharp clean smell of snow and pine, the smell of the north and home. “What stunning views we have!”

“Aye, it is pretty, I’ll say that much for it,” he replied, skillfully navigating Stranger over the shale beachhead.  “Not quite as cold as I expected, either. We’re here, lass.” Sandor tenderly stroked her stomach and bundled Sansa deeper in the furs. "Home at last."

Many times during her years of captivity, she repeated the mantra: _I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell_ ; and almost immediately Sansa was convinced that she would be stronger still within the walls of Winterfrost Keep.

The imposing log structure beckoned to her and to her amazement Sansa discovered she soon felt that she never wanted to leave, and the disappointment they would soon go back to Winterfell already began pricking the back of her mind. _How is it possible I am so attached to the place when I have not even been inside?_ The young mistress of the keep had no idea how, let alone knew why such a thing so quickly took hold in her heart.

Resting against her betrothed, she felt his heart beat wildly against her back as they moved closer to their new home. “With the blessing of the gods, our children would never know the stench and heat of King’s Landing.”

“From your mouth to your gods ears, lass,” he grunted in agreement.  _Does Sandor feel it, too?_ Sansa started to ask when he bent down and whispered into her ear, “Look, love,” while pointing out a large glossy raven circling overhead, its cawing breaking the stillness of the forest.

For a moment Sansa thought she heard a young man’s laughter, and she tilted her head to listen. _Bran?_ _Is that you, brother?_   _Are you with us?_ Sansa whispered to herself. She felt his presence much as she did at the Heart tree where he disappeared. Her mind snapped back to the present as Sandor drew rein on Stranger.

“Clever lad, that brother of yours, selecting this location. The shore provides a natural defense for the keep, and it makes intruders easy to spot.”

“Rickon learned a great deal from Osha and Meera, which no doubt led him to select this place for our keep. You know his wife is got a pup of her own on the way.”

Sansa shot bolt upright in the saddle. “Truly? Sandor, how can you tell?”

He tweaked her chin. “I told you, I saw Cersei with child three times. If I can’t spot a pregnant woman by now, there’s no hope for me.”

“A child for Rickon and Arya-it is too good to be true!” Snuggling down against him once more, she languidly began tracing her fingers over his forearm. “It already feels like home, do you not think so, Sandor?”

Chuckling, Sandor peered down at the nest the little bird made in his arms, pleased beyond words by her contented air. “Aye, I suppose it does, especially to a little snowbird such as you. I need to have a look about before I make up my mind, though.”

Several servants hurried out to greet them as Sandor lifted her from the saddle.  “Lord Clegane and Lady Sansa,” Samwell Tarly bowed. “Allow me to introduce your staff.”

“Sam, what in seven devils are you doing here?” Sandor blinked back his surprise and shook the hand offered him.

“I’m to serve as maester for the family and Gilly as a chamber maid, if it pleases you and Lady Sansa.”

Sansa pulled the young man into a gentle embrace. ““Oh, yes, Sam, that pleases me greatly. It is so good to have familiar faces in our new home.”

“Aye, glad to have a skilled maester and fighting man among us,” Sandor roughly replied while the man cautiously scanned their new surroundings. “How long you and the wife been up here?”

“Since Lord Rickon broke ground over a year hence. All the workers needed tending, you know. Men with too much time on their hands are always in need of a maester, unless they are on the Quiet Isle.” Sam and Sandor shared a knowing laugh.

“Mostly drunks in need of cures for the usual ails but a few cuts and such as well,” Sandor explained when he noticed Sansa’s puzzled expression.

“I see,” she answered quietly, her stomach sinking at the memory of the way Sandor spent his time away from her after the Blackwater battle.

“Lady Sansa, tis good to see you here at last,” Osha approached with Hodor in tow.

“Hodor,” said Hodor, the gentle man grinning widely at the sight of familiar faces.

“Osha, Hodor, it is so good of you to come!” Sansa beamed, hugging each of them by turns.

Sam made the rest of the introductions until Sandor stepped forward and inspected the last man, a young septon as tall as he. “You look familiar. What is your name?”

“This is Elder McCann, who studied under Elder brother. He is to tutor your future children, as well as mind you in spiritual matters. He can also track any animal or man and is very good at healing, reading the seasons and the weather.”

Sandor wore an inscrutable expression as he surveyed the holy man. “McCann, I know that name.”

“It is very good to meet you, Elder McCann,” Sansa held out her hand with a smile while casting a puzzled sideways glance at Sandor.  “You have travelled a great distance to serve our family.”

The young man bowed. “My Lady Sansa, it is my pleasure to meet you at long last.”

Sandor’s keen eyes lit up with a devilish twinkle. “Now I remember you, boy,” He declared with a smug look of satisfaction. “You helped me track Littlefinger through the Vale. Might not have caught up with him an my betrothed without you.”

“Thank you, my lord; I remember you as well, and that is why I asked Septon Meribald for this post.”

“The holy man is a fine tracker and hunter, lass. We’ll have more than enough game with him and Osha around.”

Sansa patted Hodor’s arm. “And our children will have a fine friend in Hodor, dearest. He is also splendid with animals of all kinds.”

“Aye, that he is,” Sandor handed Hodor Stranger’s reins before turning back to Sam. “How many guardsmen are stationed here?”

“At present, there are twenty guardsmen, my lord-all Unsullied as per the queen’s command.” Sam gestured toward the keep. “You have a fully equipped armory and ravens at your disposal also.”

“What do you think of them?” Sandor asked warily, nodding toward the assembled Unsullied soldiers standing stiffly in the courtyard. “Tell me truly, as a fellow veteran of the Battle of Ice and Fire: are all of them as good a fighter as Grey Worm?”

“Oh yes, Lord Clegane; they are far more protection than you are likely to need, but the queen insisted on posting them since Lady Sansa is family to her.”

“Fair enough,” he remarked with a shrug. “I’ll add some training of my own, you best believe that. I will want to inspect them before I leave.”

“Of course, Lord Clegane. Let me show you inside and then I’ll call the master at arms. I will leave you and Lady Sansa to get to know the place in private while I gather the men.”

A twinge of sorrow flickered across Sansa’s face, as it always did when her brother and his wife where referred to by the titles her parents once held. “That would be lovely, thank you, Sam.” Sandor took her hand in his and gave it a silent squeeze.

Sam bowed once more.“You’re very welcome, my lady.”

As the young man hurried away, Sansa gazed after him softly. “I should have known Jon would not entrust our care to anyone other than Sam and Gilly, Osha and Hodor. I am only sorry Bran will not be here to see our home, my love.”

Sandor wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I know, Little bird.”

Elder McCann stepped forward. “My Lady Sansa, I may be able to impart some information in hopes of comforting you.”

Confused, she knitted her brows and looked up at her betrothed questioningly.

“Do you now?” Sandor growled low and warningly.

“Yes, I am well versed in the worship of the old gods as well as the Seven. Through prayer, Bran has contacted both me and Elder brother with the assurance that he is able to hear you and Sandor’s vows through the weirwood trees.”

“You’d better not be fucking with us, boy,” the man snarled, gathering Sansa close in his arms as she quietly began sobbing into his chest.

“No, Ser, I swear it on the old gods and the new that it is true. I understand your reluctance, and even the most devoted would find it difficult to believe. You may enquire of Elder brother, if you wish for confirmation. Come.”

The young septon led them behind the keep into the vast pine forest to a single weirwood sapling. “It was brought here and blessed by Jojen Reed as a wedded present for the both of you. He has vowed that he and Bran will help it take root, so my lady and lord will always be able to communicate with him.”

“How beautiful!” Sansa sank to her knees in wonder before the sturdy young tree and reverently ran her hands over its pristine white limbs. “My love, the branches are already sprouting deep crimson leaves!”

Placing her hand on the trunk, she closed her eyes in prayer. “Thank you, brother,” Sansa whispered aloud. “We will speak often from now on; I swear it on the old gods and the new. We have all missed you so.”

Sandor took her hand in his and knelt beside her as Elder McCann quietly retreated into the forest. “Come on, love, let’s go see the rest of the place,” he rasped low.

Vaulted ceilings with exposed beams towered above them in the outer arch and approaches. Floor to gable shuttered windows gave the rugged interior a light, airy feel, so very different from the castles in which Sansa had previously lived. The great hall was sparsely furnished and workers hurried about setting up the oak plank benches for the wedding feast.

The smell of roasted meats and pastries greeted the couple in the dining hall. A massive granite fireplace dominated the center of the room, which was separated from the kitchen by leaved doors. Golden knotty pine cabinetry and granite countertops decorated the pantry and kitchen area, where Hot Pie worked at a frenzied pace.

Sam hurried toward them. “The queen provided furniture but commanded it stay in storage until you arrived. She felt that as lady of the keep, such matters should be left to you.”

“How very kind,” Sansa smiled up at Sandor, who merely grunted in response.

“Come into the kitchen, my lord and lady,” he gestured to the water pump. “An engineering marvel. You have hot water piped in from the hot spring in the mountains high above the keep for both the kitchen and bathing rooms.”

Sansa ran her hands over the granite basins and countertops before pointing to a large buffet set out before them. “Is all of this for our wedded feast?”

“Yes, Lady Sansa. Come, you must see your wedded cake,” Sam led her toward a large confection on the center table, interrupting Hot Pie’s decorating. “It’s actually made up of dozens of individual lemoncakes arranged to resemble one large cake,” Sam proudly smiled. “It was Hot Pie and me’s idea.”

“Mostly mine,” Hot Pie grinned and handed Sansa a direwolf shaped loaf of bread.  “Though Arya was the one who insisted on lemoncakes.”

With a loud gasp, Sansa excitedly tugged Sandor toward the elegantly tiered frosted creation. “Dearest Arya, she knows me so well! Oh, Sandor, just look how lovely it is. Thank you so much, Hot Pie, it is so very clever.”

After several moments passed with no response, she turned to see Sandor eagerly raiding a platter of pig’s feet behind them. “Best part of the animal,” he muttered through a mouthful of food. Dangling the delicacy in front of her face, Sandor heartily laughed when she scowled in return.

Sam could no longer stifle his own mirth at seeing the lady of the keep wrinkling up her nose in disgust and soon joined Sandor. Once the men sobered up, the young man continued through the dining hall.  “Here it is that we’ve set up long plank benches for the wedded feast. If it is not to your liking, we will change it.”

“It is pleasing just as it is, Sam,” Sansa dreamily replied as she looked around in awe.  “Will we have music?”

The man laughed and glanced at Sandor. “Oh, yes, my lady. Arya insisted Lord Clegane was sick of chamber music and preferred the casual melodies found in taverns.  She hunted high and low for weeks and finally found players she deemed worthy in a nearby town, much to Jon’s amusement.”

Laughing, Sansa nodded. “That sounds like her!”

“The wolf, uh, _girl_ ,” he sneered at Sansa, “the wolf girl has the right of it. I’ve heard enough bloody chamber music to last me a dozen lifetimes.”

“If there is nothing more I will leave you to your ease,” Sam bowed and headed back toward the kitchen after Sandor nodded. Hand in hand, the couple ascended the roughhewn log and granite staircase.

Leisurely they moved from room to room, opening closets and taking in the views, exploring all the intricacies of their new home.

”It smells fresh in here. What is that odor? Is it some kind of perfumed oil for the wedded feast?” Sandor sniffed, his eyes following the open upper floor beams and rafters toward the family rooms.

“No, dearest, it is the scent of the red cedar logs from which our home is built! I have not seen such in many years,” Sansa lightly ran her fingers over the wall and then held her hand up to him. “Rickon must have brought these at great cost.”

“Bloody hells, I never knew of any tree that smelled half so good,” Sandor took a whiff and then kissed her hand. “Will it stay such for very long?”

“For many years hence,” Sansa smiled at him, happy to share her knowledge of all things northern with her future husband. “It is used in the finer houses so the home will smell fresh in the winter months. When it fades, we only need have the log surfaces lightly sanded and the scent will return just as it is now.”

“Can you get over the size of these buggering bastards?” Sandor pointed his toe at the large greatbear skin rugs lining the granite floors in the solar and library. “Glad I never met the creatures around these parts.”

“These are traditional wedded gifts from the Mormonts and by far the finest fur rugs to be had in the seven kingdoms. Are they not beautiful?”

“As you say. That old woman’s hunters must be the hardest sons of bitches in the north.”

On the third floor the couple discovered six bedrooms, mostly empty of furniture save for beautifully honed pine cradles and cribs. Sansa colored deeply and reverently caressed the woodwork. “Look! For our children, Sandor.”

Nodding, Sandor clenched his jaw. Sansa could see her fearsome betrothed was fighting back tears and so she gently led him down the hall. “Come my love, let us see our room.”

Sandor slowly opened the door to the large master suite, where a massive floor to ceiling bay window ran the length of the room and provided scenic views overlooking the Bay of Ice.

In one corner a massive copper tub built for two rested on a raised marble platform with smaller copper washbasins and bathing benches placed nearby. A large oak mirror, yellow and black watercolor silk changing screens and two dressing tables adorned the far corner of the room. In the center of the window was the deepest, largest featherbed Sansa had ever seen.

“Sandor, look! There is a carved sculpture of wolves and dogs running together through the forest into the weirwood headboard! And these fox furs, how thick and luxuriant they are!” Sansa enthused as she settled on the edge of the bed and stared out at the water.

Turning toward him, Sansa noticed Sandor staring at her hungrily, and the young woman trembled pleasurably under his intense gaze. Lowering her eyes, a deep flush spread over her cheeks and neck. Chuckling low at her modesty, he stealthily moved beside her.

“Might be I’ll sing _you_ a song tomorrow, little bird,” Sandor breathed into her neck as he drew her close in his arms.

“A song?” Sansa faintly repeated, tilting her head. “I-I did not know you knew any songs.”

“Aye, lass, I know a good one, at that, ” he nibbled on her neck. “You want to hear a bit?”

Sansa’s skin tingled under the feel of his beard on her skin.Y-yes,” she stammered.

“My featherbed is soft and deep and here I’ll lay you down. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword,” he finished by gently sipping on the tender flesh of her collarbone with a devilish grin.

“Did you make that up?” Sansa teased, trying to hide the breathiness in her voice. “It sounds familiar.”

“Mayhaps I heard it somewhere with _you_ , lass,” he laughed low, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "Hold out your hand for me.”

Sansa’s eyes quickly darted up to his and held out her hand obediently.

Placing the ring in her palm, he gently slipped it onto her hand. “I carved it myself out of driftwood I saved from the Quiet Isle.”

“It is the prettiest piece of jewelry I have ever owned,” Sansa sincerely replied, staring at the glittering ring on her hand. “It fits beautifully, too.” Tenderly she covered his mouth with her own in a long, deep kiss.

Clearing his throat, Sandor moved away and fixed his eyes on the ground. “Sansa, do you remember the wedded cord you wore on your finger when we posed as husband and wife in Dorne?”

“Yes of course,” Sansa covered his face in kisses as he spoke. “It is the only place to have such a custom in the seven kingdoms, I later learned.”

He kissed her hand. “I sized the ring from it.”

“That old cord?” Sansa’s eyes widened incredulously. “You kept it? Why?”

“I kept to remember how far we’ve come together,” Sandor quietly rasped as he pulled her close. “It was in Dorne that you first kissed me, and it was there that I allowed myself to start to hope that one day you would be mine for true-it was bloody foolish at the time and yet here we are,” his mouth twitched and he drew a deep breath. “The keep is nowhere near as big or grand as Winterfell, Sansa, but it is our home and I swear that you’ll be safe and happy here.”

“Sandor, I would not wish it to be Winterfell, for then it would not be ours,” Sansa turned his face up to her. “Dearest, you must believe that Winterfrost Keep is a far lovelier home than I ever dreamed for us. The fact that it is ours, yours and mine, built by my brothers for our family makes it all the more precious in my eyes. I know we will be very happy here,” she finished with another passionate kiss.

“Aye I’m sure we will at that, lass,” Sandor wistfully rasped, pulling her back tightly against his chest. “It’s just that, well it’s a bloody lot to take in for a hard man like me.”

“Indeed it is indeed, for both of us. Springtime has come at long last.”

“And the little bird chirps louder than ever,” Sandor smirked and rose to his feet.

With a shy smile, she led him by the hand to the bay window. “Come, love, let us take in the view.”

Sandor wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. “Here we will watch the sun rise each morning dearest,” she brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed it tenderly before moving to the center of the window. “And through the years, in this very rocking chair, I will nurse our children.”

“A sweet dream, lass, truly,” Sandor sighed into her hair.

A soft knock came from the door. “My lord, the men are assembled and ready for you.”

“Bloody hells, I’m going to ban anyone from visiting for six moons after the tomorrow, by the gods,” Sandor growled as he bent down and kissed each of Sansa’s cheeks. “You stay here while I go see to our guardsmen.”

“Must you go so soon?” Sansa pouted, even though she knew her diligent man would not be at ease until he was assured of their security.

Sandor nodded. “Come in, Sam. I must see for myself that the place is well guarded by the best damned killers in the seven kingdoms.  My wife’s security is of first importance to every man here, got it? And bring me a tactical map of the keep and its grounds.”

“Right away, my lord,” Sam hurried out of the room.

“I’ll not be gone long, wife,” he murmured as he kissed her tenderly, holding her face in his hands. “Wait for me here.”

 _Wife_. Hearing Sandor’s harsh refer to her by the term which previously only held misery for Sansa thrilled her to the core. It was the first time she would be wedded by her own choosing to a man that she loved, and not for some political gain of her captors.

“I will,” she smiled, her eyes affectionately following Sandor’s intimidating build as he stalked out of the room, the scowl of menace returning to his face.

Gazing out at the whitecaps churning against the shale beachfront, Sansa realized that her ferocious non-Ser had given her far more than a proposal of marriage or a new home: Sandor swallowed his bitter hatred of nobility and allowed himself to be made a lord, not for power or the promise of a new keep, but solely to enable Sansa the freedom she would not take for herself.

Wrapping herself in furs, she sat on the edge of the bed, _their_ bed, and stared out at the water. Sansa watched Sandor drilling the men on the beach. In the distance Rickon’s host slowly made its way toward the keep. _Our privacy is over soon enough,_ she sighed resignedly.

The lordship meant nothing to Sandor, she knew. _He cares only to provide me with security and the freedom to start a new life with him. Dearest Sandor, he gave me the way in which we both would be able to return north. Here, he and I will know true happiness for perhaps the first time in our lives._

Her mind flashed back to their intimate explorations. _Out of love, Sandor denied even himself so that I would take my time and learn to love and be loved on my own terms. I will never be able to repay him for all the good his love has brought into my life._

Delicately fingering the glimmering ring on her left hand, she vowed before the old gods and the new that she would do her utmost to provide her husband the happiness and family Sandor’s life had so desperately lacked. No matter what the council of northern lords or the queen concluded, Sansa was determined she would spend the rest of her life loving Sandor, bearing his children and creating a warm, loving home for their family.

“Beg pardons but your kin is here, milady,” Gilly smiled shyly at Sansa. “Sam said you’ll be wanting to receive them.”

“Thank you Gilly,” the young woman smiled in return. “Let us go greet the young warden of the North.”

After a long, casual meal, the men walked the perimeter of the keep while Sansa and Shireen put away their belongings and arranged the furniture. “Dearest goodsister, do not overwork yourself,” Sansa leaned in close. “I know you are expecting a blessed event.”

Shireen colored brightly and stammered, “Is-is it very noticeable? I have tried so very hard to conceal it.”

“Have you told Rickon?”

“Not yet. He has much on his mind these days,” she turned and opened a nearby drawer.

“Dearest you must!” Sansa hugged her close. “He will be overjoyed!”

“I will after tonight,” Shireen laughed softly, averting her eyes from her goodsister.

“Do you expect the council to be so very difficult for him and Jon?”

Shireen wrung her handkerchief. “I am afraid I do, Sansa, though Daenerys assured us she will handle the matter herself. Arya is ready to kill the first person who accuses Sandor and Rickon is no better.” She had expected as much, but seeing the normally unflappable Shireen so disheartened sent cold fear through Sansa. Swallowing hard, she nodded and patted her hand. “Let us not give it another thought, Shireen. The gods will see to it. Now, tell me what names you have thought of for your firstborn.”

No more was said of the council meeting. The rest of the afternoon was spent unpacking their belongings, furnishing the keep and preparing for the wedded feast. By the third quarter of the sun, Rickon and Shireen mounted their horses with Sandor and Sansa for the journey back to Winterfell.


	15. The Council Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who of you dares claim the right to challenge our sister's Sansa's choice of husband in the Stark family seat?” Arya defiantly asked. “Our line goes clear back to the Kings of Winter."
> 
> "We do not believe all interests have been considered, Lady Arya," Lord Arnolf Karstark called out.
> 
> "Is that what you think?" She smirked, stepping down to face the man. Her eyes glittered with the same rage Sandor witnessed when she killed the Tickler at the inn. "My sister is a Stark, wolfblooded. She answers to no man outside this family!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this update! I meant to have the wedding in this chapter but the muse went another way. The wedding will be in the next chapter, which I will get up ASAP, I pinky swear! :D
> 
> At the end of this chapter you'll find pictures I've collected that inspired my vision of Winterfrost Keep. I hope you like them! :D

The watchman signaled the sentries to open the large iron gates of Winterfell. Eager to get out of the cold, Sandor spurred Stranger onward through the guard post. A light flurry of snow began falling at dusk and the last thing he wanted was for Sansa to fall ill on the eve of their wedded day.

“Milord Clegane, I’m gonna hafta put Stranger towards the back tonight,” the stable boy Rafe cautiously approached. “The stalls are full with the visitor’s animals. My apologies.”

Grunting, Sandor nodded tersely, his throat tightening at the banners of the northern houses.  Sansa seemed to sense his tension and held him close for a moment after he lifted her from the saddle. “Give him a good rubdown and cover him in blankets tonight, you here? Plenty of hay and fresh water, too, or I’ll skin you alive in the morning.”

“Yes, milord,” Rafe grinned, the lad long accustomed to Sandor’s empty threats.

Sandor glowered at him before winking and tossing a coin in his direction. “For your troubles on this cold night, lad.” _That boy has treated me better than half the lords in Westeros over the years, and that’s worth more than thanks or coin._ “Keep bundled up, will you? I’m not like to find another stable boy who Stranger tolerates half so well. You ever want to come serve at my keep, send a raven and I’ll come for you myself.”

“Many thanks, Ser,” Rafe paused. “I’ll miss you around here.”

Surprised, the scarred man jerked his head up. “There’s a good lad,” Sandor ruffled his hair and handed him another coin. “Enough of that. I’ll be around often. It’s Lady Sansa you’ll be missing.”

Rafe turned scarlet. “No, ser!”

Sandor chuckled. “If you miss my ugly mug, you can always come serve me. Now get to work on my horse, you here?”

“Yes, milord,” he grinned.

He tried to pinpoint when the boy stopped fearing him. Over the years Sandor did his best to put the lad at ease and it gave him a certain satisfaction that he no longer trembled in his presence. He was about the same age, Sandor figured, when he started squiring for Amory Lorch. None of the Lannister men ever treated him as anything other than a freak or an indentured servant. As lord of his own keep now, Sandor was determined he would not follow in the way of those thrice damned knights; his people would both respect and fear him. He would care for their needs and reward them for their loyalty.

Sansa hugged his arm against her chest, pulling him from the unpleasant memory. “Though I dread the thought of it, let us go in and see how the meeting progresses.”

“Bugger that, they can wait. You get changed out of those wet clothes first. I’ll wait for you in the drawing room.”

“Yes, husband,” she kissed his hand and then ascended the winding staircase to the family rooms.

Sandor was unable to resist following her with his eyes. _Husband._ The sound of the word coming from her sweet lips thrilled the man even as it filled him with cold apprehension.

Sandor hardly enjoyed exploring and furnishing the new keep knowing the lords gather at Winterfell for the meeting he feared would end with the queen renouncing their engagement. Pouring a glass of wine, he settled before the fireplace and stretched his limbs. If things didn’t go well, he was determined that he would escape with the little bird into the night just as he did so long ago.

 _Where would we go?_ _Dorne might be, could be._ There weren’t many places they would be able to hide now that the dragon queen ruled the Seven kingdoms. Daenerys’ years wed to the Dothraki chieftain taught her well and she had shown an uncanny knack for being able to anticipate his moves on a number of occasions.

It wouldn’t surprise him if the brief glimpse of happiness he found with Sansa was cruelly yanked out from under him.  He half expected it from the moment he pledged his troth to Jon. Dark rage seeped into his heart, and the man gritted his teeth and spat into the fire in disgust. 

Lady Brienne quietly entered the room. “Clegane, Lord Rickon requests you and Lady Sansa attend him and the queen in the Great Hall.”

“We’ll be there as soon as Sansa gets changed,” he snarled. “She got damp on the way back. Those bloody vultures can wait a bit longer to pluck the little bird’s feathers.”

“Daenerys won’t allow that to happen and neither will Arya, Rickon or Jon.” Brienne offered reassuringly. “Lord Rickon deferred control to Daenerys and she set a decidedly different tone for the northern lords at this meeting. It will be all right, Clegane.” Sandor secretly enjoyed the familiarity Brienne showed him when no one was around. Together with Jaime they formed a sort of brotherhood, a comraderie during the war. Despite the absence of the golden lion, the bond between the two of them was still strong.

“Your boy ready for the feast tomorrow?”

“He is indeed,” Brienne smiled somewhat sadly. “Sansa has been teaching him to dance every spare chance she gets.”

“She might as well. Neither you or I would be any good at it. Now, when it comes time to teach him to fight-“

“I’ll bring him to you, Clegane,” she smiled softly. Sansa walked into the room, casting a curious glance between them as she sat down on Sandor’s lap.

“My lady,” Brienne bowed and closed the door, leaving the couple alone. Immediately Sansa wrapped her arms around him. “Are you ready, dearest?”

Despite his worried state, Sandor stared at the little bird sitting as regally as a queen on his knee, the beautiful young woman beaming up at him as though they had not a care in the world. Even after all the time they have spent together, Sandor was still taken aback by her beauty and graceful, ladylike ways.

Sansa wore a fitted grey woolen gown trimmed in fox fur for the occasion. Sandor noticed she tied a black slash with yellow silk trim at her tiny waist.  On her left hand she wore his ring proudly, along with a necklace he gave her of a little bird perched on the head of a massive black dog.

His heart swelled with pride as placed his arms around her. “Not so subtle, that frock of yours,” he rasped into her ear while fingering the sash.

“It is not meant to be, Sandor,” she kissed his face. “I am yours as you are mine and I mean for everyone in that room to recognize that.” Drawing him close, Sansa touched his cheek and whispered, “I swear to you that I am ready to leave as the need may arise, Sandor. My life would mean nothing without you, and despite our beautiful new home, I will not hesitate to leave it behind. Tomorrow I _will_ wed you, Sandor Clegane, no matter the consequence. The only person who can change that now is you.”

“There’s a better chance of Gregor escaping the Seven hells, lass,” Sandor tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her soundly. “A smart little bird you are and beautiful, too. We will wed on the morrow, love, no need to worry your red head over it.” Sighing, he kissed her once more. “Those bloody lords don’t deserve an audience with you.”

She gave him a naughty smile and climbed down from his lap. “Come; the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can retire for the night.”

Winterfell’s Great Hall fell silent when Sandor escorted Sansa to her place on the raised platform beside Jon and Rickon. Scowling, Arya flexed her hand on the hilt of Needle and rose. Gendry followed suit, drew his sword from its scabbard and rested the point lightly on the floor.

“Who of you dares claim the right to challenge our sister's Sansa's choice of husband in the Stark family seat?” Arya defiantly asked. “Our line goes clear back to the Kings of Winter."

"We do not believe all interests have been considered, Lady Arya," Lord Arnolf Karstark called out.

"Is that what you think?" She smirked, stepping down to face the man. Her eyes glittered with the same rage Sandor witnessed when she killed the Tickler at the inn. "Queen Daenerys herself granted Sansa’s betrothal. My sister is a _Stark_ , wolfblooded. She answers to no _man_ outside this family!” Nymeria flattened her ears against her head and snarled at Arya’s side.

Lady Brienne moved closer  and shot a look toward the couple. Sansa cast a pleading glance Sandor’s direction when she saw him go for both short and greatswords hidden beneath his cloak. Smirking, he stilled his hands and leaned back in the chair once more.  Smiling softly, she took his hand in her own and whispered her thanks.

From the throne, Daenerys called out, “To all the northern lords assembled I say this: Arya speaks truly. We neither need nor require your permission or approval of the marriage of Lady Sansa Stark to Sandor Clegane, Lord of Winterfrost Keep and Warden Beyond the Wall.” Her violet eyes scanned the room warily. “I agreed to this meeting out of deference to my nephew and consort.”

"My queen, you cannot begin to understand-" the man began. A great rumbling was heard from the roof of the castle and the entire assembly nervously looked toward the ceiling in one accord. From the battlements Drogon bellowed out a frightening roar and his brothers soon responded to his call. A small smiled played on Daenerys' lips at the sound. "I do suggest you do not threaten their mother. Unless you desire bloodshed, all of you do well to change your tone."

"I meant no disrespect, my queen, to you or the Starks," Lord Karstark stammered.

"My dragons disagree," she cooly replied. Far in the distance the wolves added their voices to the chorus, filling the night air with the sound of wolf and dragon song. "As do the wolves, it seems."

Shaggydog raised his head and added his primal howl, its singularly melancoly and yet fierce timbre sent a chill through everyone in the room. “Your people are welcoming you home,” Sandor grinned. “I didn’t know she brought those thrice damned fire breathers here, though."

“They followed her; they must have sensed there would be trouble. You know the queen has an uncanny connection to her children, as we have with the wolves. The wolves welcome you, too, my love. Our sigils stand ready to defend us.”

“Your sigils will need to get in line.” Chuckling, Sandor gestured toward Arya, who raised her eyebrow with smug satisfaction at the din. "Even carrying a pup, the wolf bitch is ready for a fight."

Arya called out. “We will hear anyone who dares lay claim to my sister now.”

 Alsayne Mormont moved beside Arya and Rickon, resting Dacey’s spiked mace on her shoulder. “House Mormont stands with houses Stark and Targaryen.”

Maege Mormont stood and nodded in agreement.  “House Mormont will answer the Starks call to arms should it come to that, Your Grace.”

Meera Reed rose from her seat. “We will stand with you as well.”

“As will House Umber.” The Greatjon banged his fist against the table. "And no one will question Lord Eddard's children in my presence."

“Thank you, Lady Mormont, Lady Reed and Lord Umber,” Daenerys replied, her violet eyes angrily settling on the Karstark host. “Your families’ unswerving loyalty will not be forgotten or go unrewarded, you have my word.”

“Bloody buggering lords,” he cursed under his breath. Sandor flexed his hands on the hilt of his greatsword, his steely gaze bearing down on northern lords and ladies assembled. He should just slit the bastards throat and be done with it. Just as the scarred man was about to rise, Sansa stood up and placed her hand on Sandor’s arm.

“Queen Daenerys, I would ask you to command everyone assembled that they no longer speak of Lord Sandor Clegane as though he is not present.” He offered her his arm and escorted her before the throne. “It is most disrespectful and I will not tolerate it.”

“Of course, Lady Sansa, so ordered.”  Daenerys paused and raised her brow at the offending parties. Each bowed to Sansa and Sandor and murmured their apologies.

Once Sansa was satisfied, she curtseyed low before Daenerys with a small smile.  Lacing her fingers through his large hand, Sandor felt a slight tremble shudder through her body and gave her a small squeeze. “My queen, Prince Jon and Lord Stark, with your permission I would ask that you allow me to speak freely.”

“Of course, dearest niece,” the queen smiled warmly at her in what was perhaps the first genuine smile Sandor had seen on her face since entering the room.

“Lord Sandor Clegane and I returned north to assist in settling the lands north of the Wall and provide assistance where necessary to Lord Rickon. You and my brothers have provided us with a beautiful keep and we are truly grateful for the love and generosity you have extended to us.” Her voice wavered slightly but Sansa set her shoulders and persevered. “We were most excited to return to my father’s land but should this present a hardship to the throne or Lord Rickon, we would sooner leave than cause a moment’s distress to our loved ones.” Shaggydog loped toward Sansa and nuzzled her hand before firmly taking his position next to Ghost.

Turning to the lords and ladies assembled, she lifted her shoulders as she addressed them, reminding Sandor that Sansa was, in fact, Lady Catelyn's daughter. “However, I feel it necessary to state unequivocally that _nothing_ anyone may say or do will prevent me from marrying my beloved Sandor Clegane.  I will make no apologies for it so if that is what you are seeking, you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Here, here, Sister!” Arya called out, jutting her chin at the audience before winking at Sansa.

“I will not listen to talk of what is owed the northern lords or the realm or who feels they _deserve_ me, as I have heard it worded. Arranged marriage alliances based on politics have been done away with by the queen and rightfully so. Those traditions are in the past. Queen Daenerys has ushered in a new day for the Seven Kingdoms. To entertain these self-serving, antiquated ideas is to plunge the realm back into the dark days of winter. If you choose to reject my lord husband, then you are rejecting me as Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter.”

Lord Arnolf Karstark indignantly jumped to his feet. “You are a child, a highborn lady who is not able to appreciate the reign of terror Sandor Clegane and his brother wrought over the Seven Kingdoms. Clearly you need a man who understands such matters to educate you.”  Cregan and Arthor uneasily glanced toward Sandor, who gripped his greatsword and snarled at them, causing the men to recoil in their seats. “Shut your fucking trap before I slit your worthless throat. Anyone else who dares interrupt my wife will find themselves a head shorter, believe that.”

“Valor Morghulis,” Arya calmly replied. Nymeria raced toward the man and snapped at Arnolf and his sons until she ordered, “Nymeria, hold. Sansa, please continue, sister.”

“Yes, Lady Arya, all men must die,” Queen Daenerys icily responded. "But we are not men, nor do we need to be educated by them on matters pertaining to the realm. The period of time where women waited upon the men of Westeros to make decisions in their best interests are long over. Lord Karstark, tread lightly.”

Stiffening his lip, he bowed slightly. “Beg pardons, Your Grace.”

Maege Mormont and Alsayne chuckled with smug regard at the scolded lord.

“Niece, please, do continue,” the queen returned to her seat.

“Gregor is dead by Sandor Clegane and Jaime Lannister’s own hands,” Sansa answered, her eyes falling on Lady Brienne. “Their bravery cost the realm dearly. On a personal level, Lady Brienne lost her husband and the father of her son, let us not forget.  Sandor Clegane lost a trusted fellow warrior and I lost a dear friend.”

“Our objection is that he is not of the north, my lady,” Lord Arthor said weakly. “This is not our way, to wed one such as you to _the Hound,_ of all men.”

“Sandor Clegane need not prove himself to anyone,” Sansa eagerly replied, the color deepening in her cheeks. “His bravery and loyalty are unmatched throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The Hound, as you call him, protected me and kept me safe when not one person assembled here today came for me or Arya when we were held hostage in King’s Landing.”

“We waited for our people to come for us,” Arya choked out angrily. “We were children and you left us on our own. Only Yoren and Syrio Forel helped me, as the Hound did Sansa. You left the care of Bran, crippled and weak, and your liege lord, a child no older than his fifth nameday to Osha and Hodor! If not for them Theon would have killed them! And yet I have heard some dare to speak of them as a half-wit and a Wilding. By all rights you should have been executed for your failures.”

Sansa took Arya’s hand and kissed it lightly before walking slowly around each table, gazing levelly at each guest. “Many of you supported Roose Bolton and blasphemously called him Lord of Winterfell. You called  _the man who murdered your king_ by my father and brother’s rightful title. So eager were you to join him, even knowing of his perverse practice of flaying. All but the Mormonts, Umbers and the Reeds remembered their true king, and that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. “

Uneasy murmurring boiled through the Great Hall. Jon stood up and shouted, “Silence! The next word to interrupt my sister will be the last that ever leaves the throat of the speaker. Sandor, kill the next man who speaks without the queen's permission.” Ghost dutifully moved next to Sansa’s side and nudged her hand onto his head.

"My pleasure, Your Grace," Sandor wickedly bared his teeth at the men and unsheathed both swords.

Jon smiled at Sansa and nodded for her to continue as he moved beside her. “Some of you served the Boltons and Asha Greyjoy, whose brother betrayed our family and burned our home.”  Sansa paused and looked around the room. “I myself was once married to a Lannister and betrothed to yet another, the very one who killed my Father and Lady,” she said quietly. “The north must put an end to this petty quarreling among ourselves if we are to flourish in the new period of peace that Queen Daenerys and Prince Jon have ushered into the Seven Kingdoms. Rather than bickering over whom I will wed, we should focus on supporting each other and putting aside past grievances.”

Returning to Sandor’s side, she said softly, “There is a reason the old ways died out. We all know it as sure as winter is coming that the Kings of Winter saw fit to end that era and now we must learn to live in the spring.”

Chastened, the crowd remained silent. Queen Daenerys beamed at Sansa. “Well said beloved niece. Have you anything more to say?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I will not hear one word maligning Sandor Clegane’s character due to past deeds. We have all done things we would sooner forget and I will not be lectured by those whose atrocities reach clear to the heavens. I love him with all my heart and I will wed him on the morrow and leave Winterfell behind, as my mother left Riverrun when she wed my father. _That_ is our tradition. If the lords and ladies assembled do not approve, my queen, I would ask that they be allowed to go in peace at once, as they are neither welcome nor do they deserve to share in our joy. ”

Daenerys heartily agreed. “I will grant your request, Sansa, on the condition that these lords do not return to Winterfell. They must also never come into the lands surrounding Winterfrost Keep. Any behavior contrary to my decree will be considered an act of treason punishable by death. Lord Clegane, I will leave you to uphold this decree as you see fit.”

"Yes, Your Grace."

Jon stood beside the queen. “You may take your leave."

The Karstark host rose one by one and left the Great Hall.

"The Karstarks are given warning of my decree, and this," Daenerys added, "You better hope that you never lay eyes on me or mine again, for it will be the last thing you do on this earth."

“Thank you, my queen,” Sansa kissed her hands tenderly.

“It is nothing, child.”

“Many thanks, Your Grace,” Sandor knelt before her and laid his sword at her feet.

“Enough of this melancholy-we have a wedded eve to celebrate!” Daenerys gestured for the food to be placed at each table.

“My queen, I do beg pardon but we are most fatigued after our journey. I would ask leave to retire for the evening to prepare for the wedding.”

“Of course,” Daenerys smiled knowingly. “You and Clegane may go. The rest of you, our distinguished guests, let us eat and drink to my niece and Lord Clegane for the duration of the wine!”

A general roar went up from the crowd and music began playing in the Great Hall as Sandor and Sansa ascended the staircase.

As the couple settled under the furs, Sandor whispered against her shoulder. “You spoke well, wife. You spoke very well. A lucky man I am to have a wife such as you.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at him in mock surprise. “I love you, Sandor. Did you expect anything less from your little bird?"

“No,” he said quietly, pulling her close. "I have long known you to be a brave, loyal woman." Her fierce words of love for him moved the man deeply, and Sandor had no words to express the depth of love he felt in that moment for her. After kissing her soundly, he whispered,  “I love you, my beautiful brave little bird, more than anyone in my entire gods forsaken life. I am a damned lucky dog to have you.”

“Shh,” she slowly kissed him, allowing her tongue to sweep over his own. “Let us fall asleep in each other's arms and put this evening behind us.” She snuggled against his chest and removed her shift. "We have a big day ahead of us."

Sandor drew a sharp breath at the feel of her warm soft skin against his own. "Aye that we do, wife." He leaned over and blew out the candle and soon the couple fell fast asleep, the joys and trials of the day forgotten in peaceful dreams.

* * *

 

**Winterfrost Keep**

* * *

* * *

 I know it's a bit crazy but I really love log homes in the Great Lodge style :D

       

       


	16. Story Update

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to keep you updated about my stories. I've been pretty sick and ended up in the hospital over the weekend and so I haven't been writing lately. I don't expect to update my fics until the middle of next week, sorry about that :( 

<3 Littlefeather


	17. The Wedded Day Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could hardly speak, so overwhelmed he was by the beautiful woman before him. It pleased him greatly that she chose to wear his colors, and Sandor had never seen her look more exquisite. Drawing her into his arms, Sandor gently traced his finger over the detailed lace woven like frostwork on her bridal gown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so patient with this update. I have most of the next chapter finished as well so I will post that within a few days.
> 
> Thanks to Ladytp, I figured out how to include my photos for this chapter so as of 10/6/13 they can be found at the end of this chapter. Hope you like them. :D

Sandor awakened to the sight of his beautiful little bird snuggled against his chest, her lips curled into a small smile in her dreams. He pulled her on top of him and gently began nibbling the tender flesh of her neck. “Little bird, it is our wedded day. Wake up now, lass.”

“Hmm,” Sansa smiled sleepily at him, stretching her arms over her head.  Her skin glowed luminous in the blue early morning rendering her silk sleeping gown transparent. A curtain of fiery hair draped over him as she turned on her side and placed a soft kiss on his mouth.  Unable to resist, Sandor pushed aside the neckline of her sleeping gown, lowered his mouth to her breast and allowed his tongue to leisurely toy with her nipple.

Breathing out a soft moan, she pulled his head tighter against her body, arching her back into him. Slowly he ran his hands over her thighs and pulled her on top of him, never tearing his mouth away from her tender flesh.

“More,” Sansa moved into a sitting position over his hips and wantonly pressing her body against his manhood.  “Please, Sandor.”

Sandor ran his hands up her thighs, smoothing over her hips and dipping into her small clothes to cup her bottom in his massive hands. “The Seven save me, little bird, you are beautiful. Soon you’ll be _mine_.”

When she smiled seductively and reached for the hem of the gown, Sandor stilled her hands. He was not accustomed to restraining himself with women in his past, and his experiences with his beloved little bird tested the limits of his self-control; it would be his undoing if he allowed Sansa to bare herself completely before him in the light of day.

Growling low in the back of his throat, Sandor contented himself with caressing her stomach. He marveled at the way her curves molded into his hands as stroked up to her waist before cupping each breast in his hands, smoothing his thumb over her nipples and then made his way back to her thighs.  

Sansa eagerly ran her hands over his hips and chest until she took his face in her hands, leaned down and slid her tongue into his mouth. The change in her position allowed her woman’s place to press even harder against his cock, and the heat radiating from her core called to him, undiminished by the fine material of her smallclothes.

She tipped her head back and moaned low, resting herself further on his manhood as she sat up once more. Trembling with want, Sansa arched into him again, her cries becoming louder when next he pressed both thumbs on the sensitive spot just above the apex of her thighs.

Sansa was so alluring straddling his lap that his resolve wavered, and Sandor pressed his fingers against her harder and deepened the kiss. Biting her bottom lip, he then placed each hand under her thighs, holding her steady as he ran his index finger over the length of her slit. Sansa’s core was hot to the touch though the lace and the wetness of her arousal dampened his fingers.

Never before had Sandor allowed himself to touch her there with his hands, and as much as he hungered for her he resisted taking her into his mouth, knowing that once he had a taste, he would never be able to resist taking her maidenhead.

The pressure in his cock became nearly unbearable, and it was all the man could do to resist ripping away her smallclothes, thrust his cock into her wet center and fuck her slow and deep. The very thought brought on his release, and abruptly Sandor broke away, falling to her side and panting. “Tonight, I’ll touch and taste you in all the ways I have longed for, little bird, but we’ve got to stop now or I’ll fuck you, wedding or no. A man can only take so much.”

“Oh,” she panted with ill-concealed disappointment. “Just hearing your deep voice speak of such arouses me all the more. Must we wait?”

“Aye,” Sandor chuckled.  “If I give in to you now, I’ll fuck you loud enough for the whole bloody castle to hear us.”

Tilted her face up to him, he grinned wickedly at her, thoroughly enjoying the deep color his coarse words brought to her cheeks. “I’ll have you begging for me tonight, lass, you best believe that.”

Sansa rested her head on his chest and her breathing slowed as he rubbed soothing circles over her back. If she noticed the wetness dampening the front of his smallclothes, she did not say anything. “Quite right,” she sighed, covering his mouth with her own. “You practically have me begging now. Your touch makes me forget myself. You must forgive me,” she sheepishly gestured to his waist.

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. “Bugger that, I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He pulled her beside him and slowly kissed her, sipping at her tongue while his hands roamed freely over her curves.

“You best get ready for the wedded ceremony,” Sandor cleared his throat, feeling himself harden once more. Gently he moved away from her and reached for his sleeping tunic.

Giggling, Sansa nodded. “You best get ready yourself,” she bounced out of bed. “Do you think the Karstarks will cause trouble today?”

“No, little bird, I don’t,” Sandor pulled her close and nibbled on her neck. “But if they do, they’ll get far more trouble than they bargained for.” Worry etched her lovely face, and so he added, “I’ll be ready, Sansa. We’ve got dragons and direwolves and the wolf bitch-who’d be crazy enough to fuck with this family?”

Sansa laughed and shook her head as though to dispel her thoughts. “I know, my love. I trust you; it is the other men I fear will not use their better judgment.”

“Put it out of your mind, wife,” he pulled her into his lap.

After leisurely kissing her for a while, Sandor grudgingly returned to his rooms to prepare. A steaming bath and a fresh bar of pine soap awaited him. After stripping down, he scrubbed himself thoroughly. His hair had grown past his shoulders and as he lathered the soap through the length, Sandor wondered if he should have it cut before the ceremony.  Cursing his foolishness, he rinsed off and then picked up the loathed hand mirror.

After carefully trimming his beard, Sandor brushed his hair over the burned side of his face and stared at his reflection with a scowl. “She deserves better than you, dog,” he said aloud before slamming the mirror against the table, shattering it.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked in his closet. Queen Daenerys insisted he see Jon’s tailor, and after much complaint, he submitted. The Myrish man patiently endured Sandor’s ill temper as he measured for new leather breeches, boots and a greatbear cloak of solid black.

He insisted he already had such a garment given to him by Sansa but the man persisted; when he received the cloak, Sandor noticed three dogs embroidered in gold thread in yellow thread, and in the center of the three stood a gray direwolf.

“Your new sigil, Lord Clegane,” Daenerys explained. “The sigil of Winterfrost Keep.”

“Aye, a finer one than I had before, Your Grace; many thanks,” Sandor managed, deeply moved by her generosity.

His eyes fell on the black cashmere tunic Sansa had presented him on his nameday, made even more precious by the fact that she knitted herself. It was the finest garment he ever owned and felt their wedded day was as good a time as any to wear it.

Once he finished dressing, Sandor sat back on the chaise and said a silent prayer to the Seven. Even after the time he spent on the Quiet Isle, the man had never been comfortable entreating the gods, but Sandor figured he owed it to Sansa to ask for their blessing this day.

Across the hall, Sandor heard the women chattering as fast as their tongues would wag. Sansa’s sweet laughter echoed above the din, drawing him out of his prayers. _The Little bird will be mine soon._ For a man whose life was filled with bitterness and grief, it was almost unbelievable that he would be allowed to have the desire of his heart at long last, and a dark fear surged through him at the prospect of anyone threatening to disturb them. Rising, he thoroughly polished his short sword and dagger and then strapped them to his thigh, the familiar feel of cold steel providing him a greater sense of security.

Rustling sounds carried through the hallway, and suddenly all was quiet. _She must be ready. About bloody time._ He was just about to go to her when a soft creaking of hinges drew his eyes to the door.

There stood his beloved little bird resplendent in her bridal finery, smiling shyly at him. “You do me a great honor, my lord,” Sansa purred, moving beside him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She glanced down at the steel strapped to his leg but made no mention of it. Standing on her tiptoes, Sansa took his face in her hands and smiled up at him. “You make an exceedingly handsome and rugged bridegroom.”

Snorting, Sandor shook his head, secretly pleased by her praise. “Bugger that. Come here,” he rasped low, holding out both hands to her. “By the gods you are a beauty.”

He could hardly speak, so overwhelmed he was by the beautiful woman before him. It pleased him greatly that she chose to wear his colors, and Sandor had never seen her look more exquisite. Drawing her into his arms, Sandor gently traced his finger over the detailed lace woven like frostwork on her bridal gown. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen or ever will see, little bird.”

Sansa blushed deeply at his praise. “Thank you, my love. Do you-do you like the gown?”  

The words of the song she sang to him in front of the Heart tree in King’s Landing came into his mind as he looked over Sansa’s gown and the crown in her hair, bringing a swell of emotion to his throat as he held her close. _I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass; but you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass._

Gently he raised his hand to her hair, intricately braided and crowned with a thin wreath of woven golden grass and small weirwood leaves. The gown itself was far more revealing than any garment he had ever seen her wear, Sandor wasn’t sure he wanted to let her out of their rooms in it.

His eyes leisurely travelled over her, taking in the delicate beading of her long train, the fitted skirt that accentuated her hips up to golden leaves embroidered over the delicate lace covering her ample breasts.

“I do, very much. But it would be nothing without you in it, little bird,” Sandor growled into her neck, kissing below her ear. “I have half a mind to keep you here.”

Relieved, Sansa turned her face up to him, holding his face in her hands.  “I am so happy you like it; I wanted to please you today.”

“You please me greatly, lass, in every way. For all my growling, you best never doubt that.”

Sansa’s eyes glistened with happy tears, and impulsively she clung to him, kissing him soundly.

“Won’t you catch a chill in this thin frock? Sandor’s voiced rasped thick with emotion as he rubbed the fine material between his hands. “You should wear my cloak, little bird. I’ll not have you take ill on my account.”

“I do not believe I will. I had sleeves added to it,” Sansa smiled, holding up her arm to him. “I also have on winter leggings and furred overshoes underneath.”

“Sleeves are no help if you can see through them,” Sandor grumbled, running his finger over the organza and lace.

“True, but remember, I have a maiden’s cloak. Come; help me with it, will you?” Sansa led him by the hand into her rooms. “It is quite heavy.”

She pointed to the large white fur cloak on the bed. Sandor lifted the bulky garment and inspected it carefully, noticing the sigil of their new house embroidered on the back in gray and black thread accented with yellow weaved in between the stitches.

“You choose to wear our sigil on your maiden’s cloak?”

“Yes, my love,” Sansa took his hands in her own. “I was engaged to Joffrey, and wed to Tyrion-I never really had any choice then. The night we arrived Jon and Rickon asked which sigil I would like to wear on my maiden’s cloak. I explained to them you were the first man to place your cloak of protection over my shoulders so it should be your sigil that I wear on my wedded day, and bother tradition.”

Clenching his jaw, Sandor glanced away from her; he never liked to be reminded of that day. Sansa seemed to sense his thoughts, and she raised each hand to her mouth and kissed him tenderly. “You and I have been joined in heart for so long, we are already one in many ways. Well, the next day Rickon came to me with this sigil sketched out in his own hand,” she smiled proudly, running her fingers over the work. “I knew you would like it and so I asked if it might be our new sigil. The queen, Jon and Rickon all readily agreed.”

When Sandor remained silent, Sansa nervously added, “I know it breaks convention to wear it on my maiden’s cloak, but since you never care for such nonsense,  I thought you wouldn’t-“

“Little bird,” he pulled her tight against his chest. “Bloody hells, how could you think I would mind? It is a fine idea and I am proud for you to wear our sigil today.” Sandor carefully draped the cloak over Sansa, grateful that this would be the last time he placed a white cloak over her shoulders. “If anyone dares complain, I’ll cut their fucking tongue out on the spot.”

Sansa kissed his cheek. “I hope there will be no need for violence today.”

“That’s my concern, Sansa,” he caressed her chin. “Don’t give it another thought.”

Nodding, she sighed shakily and took his arm. “I will try.”

Rickon and Jon were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Sandor had to stifle a smirk at the startled expression on their faces upon seeing Sansa’s gown. Both men gently kissed her cheeks and held her close; both men wore their weapons as well. “Are you ready to take your husband, sister?” Jon asked quietly.

“Yes, very much so,” Sansa beamed with such happiness it nearly stole Sandor’s breath to look at her.

“Come,” Rickon held out his arm with a sly grin. “Everyone is waiting.”

Unwilling to allow his bride escorted by her brothers alone, Sandor followed behind them with one hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The freshly fallen snow glistened in the early morning sun, giving an otherworldly appearance to the crimson godswood. Jon and Rickon grinned at him, leading Sandor to wonder if the sudden nervous tension coursing through his veins was so bloody obvious that not every one of their guests would notice it.

Scowling at the men, Sandor then turned one last time to see Sansa casting a secret smile at him before he moved to his position in front of the Heart tree, the sight of her replacing his nervousness with a pleasant ache in his chest. When Arya stood beside him with her knowing grin, Sandor noticed that she had Needle strapped to her hip. _The whole family is ready_ , he thought with a sardonic smirk.

“Dog,” she whispered under her breath. “You look even uglier than usual.”

“Wolf-b, wolf _girl_ ,” he sneered back. “You look pretty hideous yourself.”

“What, no more wolf bitch?” Arya snickered. “Sansa’s tamed the Hound for certain.”

“Aye, might be,” Sandor chuckled with a shrug. “Your sister doesn’t like me calling you that. That doesn’t make you any less of one, believe that.”

Arya tisked. “Aw, you flatter me, Ser.”

“Just shut the fuck up, will you?” Sandor growled, his nerves getting the better of him once more.

“Ha! There’s the Hound!” Arya crowed, slapping him on the back. “Now we can get this wedding underway.”

She looked up to see Jon frowning at her and so Arya straightened up. Sandor glanced toward Rickon, who kept Sansa hidden behind a fallen weirwood until the guests settled.

When Sandor tipped his head in their direction, Jon kissed Sansa tenderly before he lowered the lace vale with shaking hands. Rickon kissed her hand and then looped it through the crook of his arm, and Jon did likewise, both men ready to escort her down the aisle.

All the guests turned as Sansa appeared on Rickon and Jon’s arms, he felt a fresh lump formed in his throat.  Nervously Sandor drew in a deep breath as all the guests turned toward his bride. Out of the snow-covered wood Sansa appeared before him, the living embodiment of his brightest, most beautiful dreams, and Sandor felt tears sting his eyes as her brothers handed her over to him.


	18. The Wedding and the Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the gods have yoked together let no man put asunder.” Elder brother made the sign of the Seven over them once more, indicating the end of the ceremony. “I present to you Lord and Lady Clegane of Winterfrost Keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the fabulous Ladytp, I learned how to add the photo inspiration for this chapter! As of 1-6-13, this is updated with the accompanying photos at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

Lost in her Tully blue eyes, Sandor stared intently at his bride until the appearance of three huge direwolves broke the stillness of the godswood.

Shaggydog, Ghost and Nymeria loped amongst the gathered guests before settling themselves at the feet of their respective masters. The massive creatures all watched the brush intently until Summer ambled up the aisle and sat beside Sansa, nuzzling her hand and whining low.

“Brother,” she bent down and whispered, tenderly stroking the animal’s luxurious fur. “I am so glad you came to us. Our wedded day would not be the same without you.”

Sandor, taken back by the uncanny display, looked to Sansa questioningly; his bride, for her part, acted as though nothing was amiss. Fleetingly he wondered if  the direwolves sensed they needed protection. Her calm demeanor set his mind at ease, and Sansa smiled up at him expectantly as Sandor continued gazing into her eyes.

It seemed to those assembled that the couple momentarily had forgotten any one else was present in the godswood. Behind him, Arya coughed loudly, her exaggerated expectoration barely concealing a short giggle.

Elder brother stood in front of the heart tree and made the sign of the Seven over the couple. Recalled to the present, Sandor glanced over to the holy man, who smiled and began the ceremony. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Swallowing hard, Sandor pushed aside the memory of the first time he covered Sansa with his cloak, and carefully laid his heavy garment around her shoulders. Trembling, Sandor then laid her hand over his own and held them both out before the holy man. Elder brother smiled broadly at the couple as he tied their hands together with a silk yellow scarf embroidered with the three black dogs of House Clegane.

“My Queen, Your Grace, my lords and ladies: we are joined together today before the gods and men to witness the union of Lord Clegane and Lady Sansa. Man and wife they shall be from this day forward: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Sandor and Sansa both nodded their consent.

“In the sight of the old gods of the forest and the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” Elder brother rested one hand on each of them. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Together they recited their vows. “Father, Smith, Warrior Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger: I am yours as you are mine from this day until the end of my days.”

Sansa spoke first. “Sandor, with this kiss I take you as my lord and husband.”

Sandor tipped her face up to him and tenderly caressed his finger along her jawline. “Sansa, with this kiss I take you as my lady and wife.”

Gently Sandor captured her lips with his own and then offered an intricately embroidered cloth of yellow and black, depicting a ferocious dog and wolf running alongside each other. “This is a wedded favor, a tradition of the Westerlands,” Sandor rasped low.

“How beautiful,” she fingered the fine silk. “I will wear it next to my heart, Sandor, and there it will remain all the days of my life,” she placed a delicate kiss on each cheek before kissing him soundly.

“What the gods have yoked together let no man put asunder.” Elder brother made the sign of the Seven over them once more, indicating the end of the ceremony. “I present to you Lord and Lady Clegane of Winterfrost Keep.”

Everyone assembled rose to their feet and recited in unison: “May the old gods and the new bless and keep you, now and forever.”

The direwolves all began to dance around the couple, raising their voices in wolfsong.

“They are welcoming you to the family,” Arya playfully punched Sandor’s arm. “You are part of the pack now.”

Speechless, Sandor could only nod. Never before had the man felt he belonged to anyone or anything, excepting Sansa, and that was wholly on his part.

One by one, the guests offered traditional blessings from the old gods by turns. Suddenly the direwolves darted from the godswood, followed by Jon, Arya and Rickon.

Did the direwolves sense they needed protection? Sandor anxiously observed their departure, frowning as he noticed a familiar murderous expression in Arya’s eyes, gray and keen and so like his own that many people mistook her for his daughter during their travels. When Sansa smiled up at him, Sandor carefully schooled his face to hide his apprehension.

Long after the well-wishers departed for the journey to Winterfrost Keep, the couple held each other until the godswood grew silent once more.

“I cannot believe it! We are finally wed!” Sansa laughed happily in his arms, breaking the stillness.

“Aye, you are mine and I will kill the man who dares try to come between us,” Sandor growled low, burying his face in her hair. “I’ll keep you safe, and never will we part, I swear it.”  He knelt before her and laid his sword at her feet. “My sword is yours. My life is yours. My heart is yours, from this day until the end of my days.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Sandor wondered if he unwittingly put his fears to words, and if the gods would one day make a mockery of him for it.

“Sandor, please, come back to my arms,” Sansa smiled shyly. “My heart, my life and my love are yours.” She kissed him softly and then said, “I must tell you something very peculiar.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she began hesitantly. “It is a dream I have had many times since we were betrothed.”

“Go on, then,” he pulled her close and murmured into her hair.

“I dreamed we would have five boys and two girls. We had many grandchildren and lived to a ripe old age. One night, as we slept in each other’s arms, we passed peacefully on to the afterlife. We were young again there, and we met Father and Mother and Robb, and also a young girl who I did not recognize. She had dark hair and gray eyes just like you.”

 _My sister Sarah. Sansa sees her with the Starks_. Clenching his jaw, he remained silent, the sentiment of her sweet words stealing any inclination to chide her.

“Do you think it is no mere dream?” Sansa asks hopefully, searching his eyes. “Perhaps it is our destiny that I have seen.”

So many things have happened for which he has no explanation that Sandor no longer quickly dismisses the uncanny as mere foolish peasant superstition as he once did.

“Might be, could be. You may have a bit of the greensight in you, lass,” Sandor allowed after a pause. “The rest of your kin do.”

“I do hope the dream is real.”

“From your mouth to the gods ears, wife,” he lightly touched her chin. “But no more such talk on our wedded day.”

“Forgive my foolishness,” she shakes her head. “It is only the events of last night demoralized me more than I care to admit.”

“I know,” he sighed, wishing he could slit the throats of every Karstark for upsetting his little wife. “But today is about our future, not the past. Let’s just enjoy it.”

Sansa suddenly pulls him close in a tight embrace. “Yes, husband.”

With that, Sandor scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the castle, the couple blissfully unaware that at the very same moment, a small contingency of Karstark men stood cornered by the direwolves on the far edge the godswood. 

* * *

“Did I not warn you not to see my face again?” Daenerys asked, her voice as clear and cold as the hall in which she stood.

“Your Grace-“ Arnoff Karstark began.

“Silence!” She shouted, her voice echoing in Winterfell’s Great Hall. Outside Drogon bellowed out a low warning. “Lord Rickon, I want these men imprisoned immediately.”

Cregan and Arthor gaped at the queen but wisely remained silent. “They will await their sentence until our return tomorrow. I will not allow anything to mar your sweet sister’s wedded day.”

“With pleasure, Your Grace,” Rickon bowed, glanced toward Jon and Arya, and then gestured to Grey Worm. “Unsullied will guard these men until our return.”

“Yes, Lord Stark,” Grey Worm bowed and then led the men below.

“No one will speak of this to Sandor or Sansa, is that understood?” Daenerys commanded, glancing around the room. Arya, Rickon, Jon, Shireen and Gendry all nodded in agreement. “We will allow them to enjoy their wedded feast and night in peace. Then, we will leave it to Sandor to decide what to do with them on the morrow.”

“I couldn’t think of a better punishment,” Arya smirked at Jon, who nodded in agreement. “They’ll get what they deserve sevenfold.”

The queen smiled, and in an instant, her whole demeanor returned to one of happiness. “Well, then, let us make for Winterfrost Keep. We have a wedded feast awaiting us!”

* * *

Sandor insisted Sansa change into her riding habit before they left the castle, since once again she insisted on riding with him on Stranger rather than in the cart. The maids came in to help her, but Sandor chased them off. “Get the fuck out,” he snarled, locking the door behind them.

“Sandor, please,” Sansa chided softly, though she held her arms out to him. “There is no need to be so rude.”

“Bugger that. You are _mine_ now, and I don’t want anyone undressing you today but me.” Carefully he unfastened the many buttons securing the back of her gown, kissing her skin as each fastening loosened revealed her lush body.

After he divested her of the garment, Sandor knelt before her, drinking in her beauty. Her breasts bared, she stood before him in nothing but cream lace smallclothes, garters and lace stockings. After caressing her breasts, Sandor rested his face on her belly and reverently ran his hands over her skin. “You’re mine, lass, and come what may, I’ll not allow us to be parted from this day forward.”

“And you are mine, and come what may, I will not allow us to be parted,” Sansa promised in return, running her hands through his hair. “Do you mean to claim your rights to me now?” She asked quietly, her voice suddenly nervous.

Sandor rasped out a loud laugh. “No, lass, I’ll need an entire night for all the things I have planned for you.”

Blushing deeply, she pulled him tightly against her once more and then hurriedly changed her clothing.

After he lifted her onto Stranger’s back, Sansa snuggled down in his arms under her maiden’s cloak and slept most of the trip north, until the cheers of the village people surrounding Winterfrost Keep awakened her.

“Sandor, look! They waited out in the cold to welcome us!”

“Aye, little bird,” he chuckled, relieved they had reached the keep without incident. Motioning to Ser Jorah, he called out, “Send word ahead that I want the kitchen to make ready plenty of casks of Wilding ale for the people.”

Ser Jorah grinned. “A sure way into the hearts of the common folk, Lord Clegane.”

Sandor nodded shortly while watching Sansa eagerly waving and smiling at the large crowd assembled on the beachfront. “Shall we give them something else besides, wife?”

“Oh, yes, let us feed them. I would not feel right if they went without while we feasted inside.”

“Have two hogs served, courtesy of my lady.”

“Very good,” the knight bowed to Sansa and spurred his horse toward the keep.

The crowd of smallfolk cheered Sandor’s words and called out blessings as they passed. Sandor waved stiffly in reply while wondering if he would ever get used to the idea of being a lord. He had no idea how to be a proper lord, but the least he could do is see to it that his people were treated fairly.

The warm and welcoming interior, aglow with candles flickering golden against the great log walls, greeted the couple. The sound spirited conversation reached their ears before they made it to the entryway of the Great Hall. Sansa clapped her hands delightedly and squeezed his arm.  “Look Sandor, how lovely everything is! It is even prettier than yesterday!”

The women all gathered around her, kissing the young woman’s cheeks and smoothing her hair.  Sandor stepped aside, content to see Sansa so happy and carefree; his little bird knew enough misery in her young life, and Sandor meant to keep her that way from that day forward. 

Laughing, Arya and Shireen whisked Sansa upstairs to help her into her wedded gown once more, leaving Sandor to speak to their guests alone. Sighing, he squared his shoulders and entered the Great Hall wearing his usual frown. Everyone assembled stood and cheered for him, and Sandor nodded and bowed in response, every bit as uncomfortable as he was the day of the Hand’s tourney.

Sansa was the first one on her feet, ignoring the stares of the lords and ladies around her as she cheered him on. Having the love of the commons was one thing, but to see his beautiful, caged bird freely express her admiration before the noblemen and smallfolk alike touched him deeply, unexpectedly. From that day forward he sought her out. The bitter Hound from King’s Landing never would have imagined that the next time he received such a welcome, Sansa Stark would be his lawfully wedded wife.

Arya ducked her head into the hall and motioned toward Sandor. “Come here, will you?”

“What is this?” Sandor grinned mischievously. Dressed in her intricate gown once more, Sansa stood waiting for him, her face blushing into a deep rich color when she met his eye. He bent to kiss her cheek. “You look like the cat that ate the songbird.”

Self-consciously Sansa raised her palm to her face and averted her eyes. “I was merely having a rather intimate conversation with my sisters.”

“Mayhaps you’ll want to tell me about it later,” Sandor growled against her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone, ignoring Shireen and Arya’s laughter. The wolf girl shook her head and led a gaping Shireen by the arm into the Great Hall, giving them a moment of privacy.

“You ready to greet our guests, little bird?”

“Yes, husband,” she blushed and took his arm. Sandor thought he would never tire of hearing that sweet word from her mouth. When Sansa and Sandor entered the Great Hall arm, the guests all stood and cheered once more, shouting wedding blessings and raising their tankards of ale to toast the newlyweds.

A lavish feast representing food from the regions of the North, the Wall, and Bear Island awaited the couple: honeyed chicken, beef and bacon pies, black bread, cod cakes, venison pies, beef and barley stew, apple crisps, stewed plums, hen-on-the-wall, Wilding cider, Dornish sour, oatcakes and roasted haunch of goat.

Sandor ate heartily, sampling everything placed in front of him. Since Sansa’s ordeal in King’s Landing, whenever the little bird was upset she had difficulty eating, and the new husband was relieved to see her thoroughly enjoying her food along with him.

From his place at the wedded table overlooking the guests, Sandor enjoyed watching the rowdy, loud, spirited northerners celebrate, feeling as though they were his kind of people and that he would fit in well among them after all.

“The queen seems to be enjoying herself,” Sansa whispered to him. “I was a bit concerned she would disapprove of our high-spirited ways.”

He glanced over to Jon and Daenerys seated at the highest place of honor. The young queen threw her head back and laughed heartily at a rather salty comment from Maege Mormont, while Jon reddened and joined in. “Not that one,” Sandor shrugged. “She doesn’t have the stick up her arse like most of the lords and ladies in King’s Landing. She’s lived everywhere and knows how to enjoy herself wherever she is.”

“High praise coming from you!” Sansa teased, kissing his cheek.

When the meal was over, Hot Pie served the wedded cake, baked in individual lemoncakes so that each guest had their own. Delighted, Sansa ate three of them while sitting on Sandor’s lap, alternating between feeding him bites from her fingers and taking her own.

Though never a man to enjoy open displays of affection, Sandor found he did not mind so much when it was he and his little wife engaging in it, and he languidly licked the frosting from her fingers with each bite, causing the guests to laugh and shout bawdy suggestions at the couple.

“To bed! To bed! Maege Mormont banged her tankard on the table. Alsaynne, Arya, Daenerys all joined in, and soon the Great Hall was filled with the din.

Setting Sansa in front of him, Sandor growled out above the noise, “Any man who reaches to undress my wife will find himself missing an arm!”

A hush fell over the room until Arya shouted, “Have it your way, Hound, the men can deposit Sansa in your rooms fully clothed and then we’re coming for _you_!”

All the women laughed and shouted in agreement as they rushed upon him. Brienne held him down while each took a turn removing his clothing, all the while commenting on his anatomy in terms that would make a Dornishman blush.

Cursing, Sandor clenched his jaw and  meekly submitted to the time honored northern tradition as he watched Jon, Rickon and Gendry carefully lift Sansa in their arms. Laughing merrily, Sansa blew a kiss his direction, casting one last glance toward him just in time to see Arya reaching for the lacings on his breeches.


	19. The Bedding Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilting his face back to her, Sansa kissed him deeply and slowly, dipping her tongue into his mouth as she lightly traced the hardened contours of his powerful physique. Strong arms caught her waist and pressed her tightly against him as he deepened the kiss further, exploring her mouth and tongue with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photos at the end of the chapter :D

The men deposited Sansa onto her featherbed, laughing merrily. Rickon and Gendry left as quickly as they came, but Jon lingered, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I know it is not a true bedding fit for a northern lady, Sansa, but we are the only men whom Sandor would not gut for carrying you off,” he teased. “I doubt any other man in the room would have even tried it. He looked like a mad dog, and that we were stealing his bone!”

Leaning back among the pillows, Sansa laughed long and hard, knowing her brother’s words were truer than either he or she cared to admit.

When her laughter died down, Jon turned serious. “Are you nervous, sister?”

“A little,” Sansa shrugged good-naturedly and took his hand. “Do not fret, brother. I know he is fearsome but he will be good to me. He has always been very gentle, which is all the more surprising given his size and ferocity.”

“I know,” Jon sighed. “But as your brother, it is my duty to be concerned, you know.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, Jon,” Sansa kissed his cheek. “Thank you for giving us such a beautiful day and a beautiful home. Jon, you and Rickon and the queen have been too good to us. I felt Father and Mother and Robb smiling upon us today.”

“Me, too.” Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his mouth curled into a pleased half grin. “Have a few glasses of wine. Goodnight, Sansa.” Turning back to her, he added, “You and Sandor come see us on the morrow after we break our fast, alright?”

“Really Jon, is that necessary?”

“I am afraid it is,” he turned the door handle, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Of course,” Sansa nodded, wondering what was afoot.

After her brother left, Sansa’s stomach began fluttering in earnest as she gazed about the room. Wine decanters, glasses, cheeses and bread stood at the ready. The fireplace, crackling warm and bright, cast deep shadows on the rich tawny cedar walls. Beeswax candles covered the mantle and tabletops, lending their sweet warm aroma to the room.  The curtains covering the huge bay windows were pulled back to reveal the starry sky beyond the Frozen Shore.

She rose from the bed and smoothed the thick down stuffed coverlet, fingering the silk scarlet leaves she painstakingly appliqued during the trip north.  It was her gift to Sandor, a sentimental reminder of their song. Wandering over to the copper tub, Sansa pumped the faucet handle and ran her fingers through the warm water piped in from the hot springs. _Rickon and Jon did what they could to make it just like Winterfell._

Despite the golden glow from the fire, the stars shone brightly through the great glass panes, drawing the young woman to the view. _It is so very beautiful; we could not have asked for a lovelier home._ Slipping off her shoes, Sansa curled into the window seat and stared out at the endless blackness.

The din of revelry wafted through the walls. Smiling, Sansa replayed the day in her mind. The ceremony itself was beautiful and never could she recall enjoying herself as much as she did at the reception. While Sansa eagerly awaited her husband, as the minutes ticked by, she found her nervousness growing. Tonight they would finally consummate their love, and after waiting so long, Sansa was both excited and anxious.

Arya’s earlier words did not help alleviate her nerves. “He’s bound to be huge, Sis, so you best drink plenty of wine. And try not to look at his face.”

“Arya, really!”

“Do not listen to her, Sansa,” Shireen frowned and shook her head reprovingly. “If he is gentle, that will not matter.”

“Gentle?” Arya snorted. “The Hound? He used to swaddle me in a blanket and toss me on Stranger’s back as if I was a bag of meal. Once he even threw a helmful of ice water over my head to wake me up. Not likely he’s gonna be tender, that one.”

“Sometimes the roughest men are the most considerate,” Shireen blushed, and Sansa knew she was speaking of Rickon. “Do not worry, Sansa; I am certain Sandor will be good to you. He has lived a hard life full of danger. It is already very obvious that he appreciates the softer side you have brought out in him.”

Sansa leaned in and kissed Shireen’s hand. As a man grown, her youngest brother was the most fearsome looking of the Stark men. He shaved his head on the sides into a mohawk while allowing the center to grow long, which he wore pulled into a ponytail. As tall and muscular as her father, Rickon’s eyes were as wild as Shaggydog's and the direwolf often responded to his anger.  Osha, fearing he would be killed, had wilding ceremonial tattoos inked into his arms, back and chest to protect him. To the alarm of everyone, a wilding shaman added two more dark slashes under each of his eyes when he was appointed Warden of the North.

Cautious and aggressive, it took the young lord many years to settle into life as Warden of the North, and Sansa knew better than anyone the struggles he endured to come to the place he was now. The life he led on the run at a young age left an indelible mark on him, just as it did Sansa, Arya and Jon. Though she was concerned about him, she felt it best to let her youngest brother find his own way. When Sansa finally asked why him why he marked himself in such a manner, Rickon said that such would enable the old gods of the forest to give him far sightedness and wisdom, and she did not have the heart to scold him.

Never one to back down from a fight, he carried weapons with him everywhere he went, even within the castle. Yet from the moment he met Shireen, Rickon was gentle, polite, and almost reverent with the young woman.  Her love brought out tenderness in the man that the family had thought all but disappeared, and judging by the tender way Shireen looked upon her husband, Sansa was certain her fierce youngest brother was good to his wife.

It was not so different for her and Sandor. Everyone thought he was a half wild dog that would bite any hand that dared pet him; but her husband was just the opposite with her. Over the years, they learned to understand one another, and Sansa came to appreciate the ferocity of the Hound.

Sandor’s rough growl echoed in the hallway, pulling her out of her thoughts. Pinching her cheeks, Sansa then smoothed down her gown while trying to affect a casual pose in the window seat.  Noisily the man burst into the room, shouting curses while the women wrangled him out of the last leg of his breeches.

Heat flooded her cheeks at the sight of her new husband, naked as his nameday and as mad as she had ever seen him. Brienne held his arms behind him while Alsaynne grappled with his legs until Maege Mormont triumphantly held his leather breeches over her head. “A lucky lass you are, Lady Clegane. Your man is enough to make any red-blooded woman’s mouth water. You need any help with him, lass, you just call on old Maege, you hear?”  

The women all cheered noisily and shoved him into the room. Daenerys held onto the doorframe, laughing until she gasped for breath and tears pearled in her eyes. “Come ladies, we have had our fun. Let us leave them to find their own amusement.”

The queen’s words sent up another round of raucous laughter. “Shameless hussies!” He snarled, slamming the door.  Outside the women shouted lewd complements through the door. Once the merriment faded, Sandor asked, “Do you think that crazy daughter of hers really fucked a bear? Bloody hells but she is strong.”

Laughing, Sansa shook her head. “No, I do not think so, but you can never tell. The Mormont women are skin changers.”

“She yanked on my cock pretty hard, that one,” he chuckled in spite of himself. “And the wolf bitch-she damned near pinched me half to death! She’ll get hers once she whelps her pup.”

The shadows from the fireplace gave Sandor’s muscular physique an even larger appearance, allowing Sansa a far different view than their clandestine encounters under the cover of night. Stretching, Sandor arched his back as though shaking off the bedding ceremony, uninhibitedly scratching as he grinned at her. Sansa stood in awe of him, and slowly her eyes travelled down to the thick hardened shaft of his manhood, bringing a flood of color to her cheeks.

When Sandor sheepishly met her eyes, Sansa giggled softly and held her arms out to him.  He grinned in return, though his expression quickly turned into one of confusion as he noticed her anxiously nibbling her lip.

Sandor stopped and briskly pulled one of the fur throws off the bed, wrapped it around his waist, and then quickly crossed the room to her.  “Why so bashful, my beautiful little bird?” He asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Haven’t changed your mind about taking a dog into your bed, have you?”

Though she tried to ignore it, the memory of her wedded night with Tyrion unnerved her still, and Sansa fought to keep her focus on Sandor. “Don’t be silly, my love.”

His intense gaze brought a deep flush to her cheeks. “What is it, Sansa? Tell me.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sansa rested her hands on his chest, sighed and buried her nose into his skin, reveling in the scent of him as she willed away the unpleasant memories. Sandor smelled of horses, ale and pine needles, safety, the north and home. The very nearness of him comforted her and Sansa began to relax. Sighing, she focused on the feel of his muscular arms at her waist, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, the slow rhythm of each breath.

“It is just the bad dreams again.” Every night for the first month of their journey north, she awakened in a cold sweat, reliving among other bad experiences, her wedded night with Tyrion. When he implored her to tell him what happened, she could not bring herself to speak of it. _I could tell him, in fact, I should tell him. He is now my husband, after all._

Seeming to read her thoughts, Sandor gently he moved her hair away from her neck and rasped low in Sansa’s ear. “I’ll kill him for you, if it will help. You say the word and it’s done.”

“Who?” Sansa tried to play innocent, hoping he would drop the subject.

“I mean it, little bird,” Sandor gripped her jaw with his fingers. “I’ll fucking hunt down and kill the Imp if it will make you feel safe. I’ll not have his memory haunt you in our marriage bed.” His rasp was dark and frightening, and Sansa had no doubt that he meant every word.

“Sandor, it won’t, it’s just-“

“Tell me what he did to you.” Sandor’s voice was flat and cold. He gripped her chin and stared into her eyes. “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t so much what he did,” Sansa faltered, knowing she was heading into dangerous territory with him. “I told you he left me a maid.”

Solemnly, Sandor nodded, his eyes glittering with rage.

“The entire day I was so very afraid, Sandor. It was horrible, all of it-the ceremony, the reception and then that night-“ she paused. “It is the memory of the fear-the powerlessness that I felt-that haunts me.”

Understanding mixed with anger welled in his eyes, and Sansa raised her hands and cupped both of Sandor’s cheeks so he would not pull away. “I did not experience the same with you, so please put that out of your mind. When you left me, you did not leave fear, only the regret that I did not leave with you. As for my wedded night,  I relived it in my dreams but over the years, the dream changed.”

“How so?”

“Well, I still could see his eyes as I undressed. Only then suddenly he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed, his face was scarred only on one side. It was you whom I dreamed of, Sandor, and it was then that I was no longer afraid.”

Sandor pulled away and stared at her. Undeterred, Sansa continued, “’I’ll have a song from you’, you said.”

Turning away, he cursed under his breath. Sansa turned him to face her once more. “Don’t you see? Even back then, I drew comfort from you and from the memory of you. I _longed_ to be with you as husband and wife, and I understood what song you wanted from me.”

“Bloody hells,” he muttered, pulling her close and squeezing her against his chest.

“Let us speak no more of that person here,” she nuzzled into him.

“Aye,” he hoarsely agreed.

Tilting his face back to her, Sansa kissed him deeply and slowly, dipping her tongue into his mouth as she lightly traced the hardened contours of his powerful physique. Strong arms caught her waist and pressed her tightly against him as he deepened the kiss further, exploring her mouth and tongue with his own. A low moan echoed in her throat, and Sansa pulled herself closer still.

Setting her back on her feet, Sandor pulled away and drew his finger along the edge of her gown and then over the swell of her breast. “You won’t be needing this for what I have in store for you.” 

She blushed and turned her back to him. Carefully he unfastened the gown, his large hands pushing it away from her shoulders. Meekly Sansa submitted to Sandor’s attentions as he eased her out of the gown. _The next time I dress, I will no longer be a maiden,_ she thought fleetingly. Once freed of the garment, she shrugged out of her sheer shift as well and turned to face him.

His expression was unreadable as his eyes wandered over her body, devouring her. Slowly he traced his index finger over the curve of her cheek, down the slope of her neck to her breast, his eyes never leaving hers.  Sandor’s mouth fell slightly open when her nipple hardened under his touch, the corner of his burned mouth slightly twitching as he knelt before her.

He took the firm bud of her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, the pleasure of it warming her and bringing a surge of dampness to her woman’s place. Sandor took his time savoring her, gently licking and sucking on her nipple by turns and then lavishing the same attention on her other breast.

Sansa impatiently pulled him closer, the caresses of his hands and tongue creating a deep aching need between her thighs. Chuckling softly, Sandor gently unrolled her stockings, first one and then the other, all the while allowing his hands to rub her bare legs. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through her. “The Maiden made flesh you are, wife,” he rasped hoarsely. “If I had my way, you’d never wear clothes.”

“Oh, that feels so good,” Sansa sighed softly and rested her hands on his broad shoulders.  His hands meandered upwards toward the juncture of her thighs, resting there. Every nerve in Sansa’s body tingled and a low moan escaped her throat as his fingers grazed along the edge of her smallclothes.

Sandor’s eyes shot up to hers as he reached for the ribbons, seeking permission. “You won’t need these, either,” he muttered against her skin.

“Then take them off, husband,” she gasped while rubbing the hardened muscles of his upper back encouragingly.

Trailing his finger along the lacy edge of the garment, Sandor placed light kisses along her inner thigh, his mouth warm and wet against her skin.  Growling in the back of his throat, Sandor pulled the ribbons of her smallclothes free, nudging her until the backs of her knees met with the window seat.

A flush of embarrassment went through Sansa when she realized how close Sandor’s mouth was to her woman’s place, but everything about him felt so good that she could not resist drawing his head closer.   _Will he really kiss me…there?_

In the Vale Sansa heard of women giving such intimate kisses to men but the idea that a man might enjoy giving them in return came as a shock to her. Glancing upward, Sansa noticed the sky was alight with stars. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“That you are,” Sandor murmured his agreement. He ran his tongue down to her navel and then lower still, his hot breath washing over her woman’s place.   _Is he going to kiss me there?_ She fidgeted against him, waiting for what she did not know.

“Sit back in the window seat,” he half spoke, half groaned while his hands rhythmically kneaded her thighs and bottom. No more had she complied than Sandor’s mouth descended on her tender folds, his hot tongue curling around a spot of sensitive nerves he had previously rubbed with his manhood.

In an instant, her knees buckled, and Sansa moaned long and low in response. Doubling forward, she gripped his hair tightly and beseeched the gods as he laved at her most intimate place, suckling the folds and running his tongue in circles over her until she felt she could take no more.

Gasping, she squirmed into him but Sandor only laughed and held her firmly in place. Suddenly her peak rushed over her, soaking them both with her arousal. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind, and Sandor continued hungrily licking the length of her woman’s place while cradling her in his arms.

“Hmm, so pink and delicious. You taste like the sweetest wine, wife; I’ll never get my fill of you,” Sandor whispered against her skin. Sansa started to respond when his tongue roamed the length of her once more and then dipped into her slit, coaxing another surge of exquisite aching need between her thighs.

Her words forgotten under the ministrations of his mouth and tongue, Sansa pushed aside her embarrassment and instead focused on the feel of her husband. His long hair brushing against her skin while powerful hands anchored her securely. The scratchy stubble of his beard tickled her mound and inner thighs, making her body hot all over. Something warm and wonderful was building within her again. Wantonly she began wriggling against him, running her fingers through his hair as he continued tasting her.

“Rest your knees on me,” Sandor rasped, then lifted each of her legs over his shoulders. Blushingly Sansa dared to glance down at him, and to her amazement, it seemed her husband enjoyed giving her pleasure as much as she liked receiving it. Sandor’s moans coincided with her own, and his breathing was coming in shallow gasps as he continued exploring her with his mouth.

Giving herself over to the pleasure of his touch, Sansa began arching her back in rhythm with his tongue, all thoughts of propriety chased away by the flow of passion Sandor brought to her. Her woman’s place was slick and throbbed with desire but Sandor continued suckling her folds until she writhed beneath him.  

Sansa threw her head back and cried out with abandon, and Sandor slowed his ministrations, allowing her to ride out her peak before he sat back on his heels.

“Get me out of this thing now,” Sandor ordered, his voice heavy with need. Quickly Sansa unwrapped the fur around his waist, revealing the thick hardened shaft of his manhood nestled in a mound of dark hair. Her fingertips traced along the soft hair between the solid musculature of his chest and down over his stomach. His abdominal muscles and cock both twitched at her touch, the involuntary  movement bringing a smile to her face.

“Please, touch me,” Sandor tipped his head back and groaned softly.  His deep gray eyes were desperate, almost pleading and Sansa knew he was in too much need to tease further. Taking him in hand, she whispered, “What would you like me to do? I would learn to please you, as you have pleased me.”

Passion gleamed in his eyes as he stared down at her. Sansa felt as though she was drowning in his eyes until his rasping voice broke the spell.“I want you to spread your pretty legs for me now. I can’t wait to fuck you any longer, Sansa. Let me have you.”

His coarse but passionate words excited her. “Yes, my love,” she moaned while firmly stroking his manhood.  He wrapped his hand around hers and tightened her grip, guiding her movements. Reaching between them, he pressed his fingers into her slit while she continued to rub him. Suddenly he pulled away, gasping for air. “Enough. I won’t last like this.” Nodding dazedly, Sansa struggled to catch her breath and leaned back in the window seat.

“My featherbed is deep and soft and there I’ll lay you down,” his mouth curled into a grin as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.


	20. The Bedding Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drew his face closer still, and she pressed her cheek against his while languidly running one hand through his hair. “You won’t hurt me. Take me, Sandor, now,” she whispered with a soft smile, her hands inching down to cup his buttocks and pull him deeper still into her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your reviews.

Tossing the throw pillows on the floor, Sandor laid her down and then settled down beside her, the thick feather mattress sinking under his weight.  Breathing heavily, he captured her breast in his mouth once again, making contented noises while swirling his tongue around the nipple. Whimpering, Sansa ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

His hand snaked between her legs, nudging them further apart, and then dipped two fingers inside, causing her to instantly arch into him. Sansa was slick with arousal, and Sandor’s fingers easily slid in and out of her woman’s place. She felt her muscles tighten around him, and remembering to relax, she took a deep breath and exhaled softly. There was no pain, only a sweet ache building in her core, and Sansa was desperate for more. “Please, Sandor, I need more,” she gasped out, wantonly rocking her hips against his hand.

“Gods but you are ready,” Sandor groaned against her skin while increasing his thrusts. He added another finger and circled the sensitive spot in front of her woman’s place.

Crying out his name and supplicating the gods by turns, Sansa fisted the furs beneath her, her body held captive to the feel of his hands and tongue. Vaguely she realized Sandor was positioning himself between her legs, so Sansa spread her own further apart and wrapped her long limbs around his hips.

Suddenly Sandor removed his hands from her slit and cradled her in his arms, reaching between them. Whining in protest, she arched her back into him and felt the hot wet tip of his manhood nudging her entrance, pushing.  With a deep groan he thrust inside of her, shallow at first, and then gradually deeper.

The shock of being so filled up by him rendered her breathless.  Squeezing her eyes closed, Sansa cried out once more, her muscles tightening around the thick shaft of his manhood. Finally, when she relaxed in his arms, he thrust hard and deep, tearing her maiden’s veil. Tears pearled in her eyes and Sansa bit down onto his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Moaning, Sandor stilled his movements, his entire body trembling as he struggled to restrain himself. “Little bird forgive me,” his husky voice rasped into her ear warm and reassuring. Stroking her back, Sandor whispered, “It won’t hurt any more. Look at me.”

When she didn’t respond, he bent his head toward her. “Look at me,” he repeated, leaning on his forearm and caressing her face with his hand. Dazedly she looked deep into Sandor’s eyes, both wild with passion and yet somehow vulnerable, pleading. In that moment he revealed a part of himself that Sansa had never before seen in the man she thought she knew so well, and she loved him even more for it.

Rising up, Sansa leaned up and gently nibbled on his lips. He drew his face closer still, and she pressed her cheek against his while languidly running one hand through his hair. “You won’t hurt me. Take me, Sandor, now,” she whispered with a soft smile, her hands inching down to cup his buttocks and pull him deeper still into her body.

He pressed his forehead to hers and began thrusting his hips, all the while holding her gaze. A warm dull ache of pleasure followed the sudden sharp pain of losing her maidenhead, and Sansa began moving her hips in time with his own while running her hands down his back and over his buttocks encouragingly.

“Gods but you’re tight,” Sandor’s breath was hot on her ear, his face twisted in a blend of of pleasure and something Sansa read as pain.

“Did it hurt you too?” She whispered, confused.

Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, lass.” It seemed to her that something then broke free within him, and Sandor began thrusting into her harder and faster while cradling her head with one hand and her hip with the other.

Clinging to him, Sansa inexpertly tried to meet his cadence, which seemed to please him until suddenly he gripped her hips tightly.  “Don’t move, lass,” Sandor groaned and then rolled her over on top of him.

Slowly he inched his back against the headboard until they were both in a sitting position. Sandor settled her over his cock while he rubbed his hands over her thighs and buttocks. “Take your pleasure, wife.”

Sansa puzzled over his words for a moment. “Tell me what to do.”

“Roll your hips like you did this morning,” he rasped, resting his hands on her hips and guiding her movements. Sandor’s breathing was coming hard and fast, and he rested his forehead against hers and arched up to meet her. “Please, Sansa, now.”

Sansa slowly began moving her hips forwards and backwards, rubbing her sensitive spot on the base of his cock. “Oh, it hurts some but it feels so good,” she moaned against his neck, kissing him there and sucking his pulse point.

A faint rumble echoed in his chest. “Yes,” Sandor hissed out and then turned her head and kissed her. Gingerly she started moving faster on her own, the pain lessening with each thrust. As deep pleasure began building in her core once more, and Sansa gave herself over to it completely, tipping her head back and rocking faster against him while gripping his muscular shoulders for balance.

Hearing him moan and grunt beneath her inflamed her passion for him further.  Staring deep into his eyes, Sansa began riding him in earnest, her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat as she rolled her hips against him again and again.

Moaning long and deep, Sandor arched up to meet each thrust, his arms wrapped around her back tightly while one hand tangled in her hair, pulling it to expose her neck.  

His manhood was just as thick and hard as Arya predicted, and Sansa loved the way it caressed a spot inside her woman’s place. She moved faster over his cock, and each thrust of his hardened member sent shivers of delight throughout her body. Grinding his manhood deeper inside her still, she felt Sandor’s teeth bite down on her the hollow of her neck, bringing her to completion. Crying out, she felt her arousal soak him but she continued wantonly riding his length, absorbed in the feel of her husband.

“Fuck!” Sandor gasped loudly. As she rode out her peak, she felt Sandor’s entire body tremor; he curled around her with a sharp cry as his manhood pulsed hot seed deep inside her. Instinctively she tightened her inner walls around him, drawing out his orgasm.

Gripping her tightly against his chest, Sandor moaned long and low, and faintly Sansa realized the sound of both of their love cries echoed loudly against the log walls of the large bedroom.

Briefly, she wondered if their guests could hear them but surprisingly Sansa discovered she did not care, so overwhelmed with pleasure was she. _Let them all know that I am his, as he is mine, and that I love him in body as well as heart._

Sandor covered her neck and shoulders with soft kisses, his arms trembling around her. “Little bird,” he whispered over and over, crushing her against his chest.

Soothingly she murmured words of love in his ear while she caressed his back. Bringing her hands up into his hair, she ran the length through her fingers.

Sighing deeply, Sandor then gently lifted her in his arms and laid her down beside him. “I love you, wife,” his rough voice whispered against her skin.

His simple declaration filled her heart with love for him and brought tears of happiness to her eyes. “As I love you, Sandor. When we are old and gray, we will remember this day as the day our lives began.”

Sandor curled around her body possessively and rested his head on her breasts. “That we will, wife.”

“And it is all because of you, dearest. You used your lordship, the very thing you despised, to make our dreams come true.”

He remained silent, burrowing his face into her further. In the distance, a clap of thunder rumbled, followed by a bright flash of lightning illuminating the bedroom. Warm and sated, Sansa yawned sleepily and closed her eyes to the patter of rain against the glass panes.

* * *

“Wife, wake up. Come look outside,” Sandor nuzzled into her neck. Sansa slowly opened her eyes to see torrential rain streaming down the bay windows. Covering her in a thick fur, Sandor then carried her over to the window seat and snuggled down beside her.

Sansa noticed Sandor was still naked. Suddenly it dawned on her that so was she, and most likely rather wild looking after their exertions. When he turned away to stoke the fireplace, she smoothed down her hair and pinched her cheeks.

“Look at that, will you?” Sandor wrapped another fur around them and pointed toward the horizon.

Each brilliant flash of lightening cast an eerie blue glow over the lake and the Shivering Sea beyond. “Oh, Sandor how beautiful!” She giggled delightedly. “Imagine that-we can watch the storm right from the comfort of our bedroom-even from our bed, should we so desire.”

Chuckling he nodded. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I am,” Sansa blushed, wondering if he heard her stomach growling. “I guess we worked up an appetite.”

“Aye,” her husband’s eyes gleamed mischievously. Rising, Sandor pulled the table next to them and handed her a plate filled with lemoncakes, cheese, bread and grapes.

“Thank you, husband,” Sansa smiled up at him and placed a small bit of cheese and sourdough bread in his mouth.

Growling, he licked her fingers as she pulled away, then grinned down at her and fed her in the same manner. Blushingly she licked his fingers in like manner while holding his gaze, the act pulling a low moan from his throat. “Don’t give me any ideas, little bird.”

Laughing, she rested her back against him, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against her own. “Would that be so bad?”

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. “No, love, but we best go easy until you know how you feel, after.”

She was bit sore, she had to admit. “How good you are to me,” she whispered, kissing him lightly. “You are very considerate-Arya was so very wrong about you.”

“Not the first time for that,” Sandor shrugged and  handed her a glass of wine. “I can save the wedded bedding, if you wish, Sansa.”

“No, love, I do not believe that will be necessary. Thank you for thinking of it, though, and of me.”

“I always think of you, little bird,” Sandor rasped deeply into her hair.

“Sandor, did Jon ask you to meet with him on the morrow?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“Does it not strike you as a rather odd request after our wedded night?” Sansa turned to him. “Customarily newlyweds are left alone for a week at least.”

Slowly he nodded, scratching his beard.

“What do you suppose it means?”

“Fuck, who can guess?” After a moment, he offered, “Mayhap something is afoot with the Karstarks. I doubt they will give up so easily, no matter what the queen decrees.”

The thought had crossed her mind but she did not give it any credence until Sandor put it to words. Drawing a deep breath, Sansa nervously clutched his arm and shivered.

“Easy, Sansa,” Sandor whispered into her neck, kissing her there. “Whatever it is, I’ll handle it, you best believe that.”

Sansa forced a smile. “I know you will my love.”

“You are mine now, Sansa, in every fucking way there is,” Sandor tipped her face up to him, his eyes glittering with rage. “I will hunt down anyone who dares say otherwise. I’ll kill the Warrior himself before I allow any of those bastards to cause you a moment’s worry.” The murderous tone in his voice sent another shiver through her body.

Sansa stared into his eyes and caressed his face. “I know.”

“Say you believe me.”

“I believe you, Sandor.”  Sansa kissed him tenderly, slowly allowing her tongue to swirl around his mouth before pulling away. “You have always kept me safe, and I know you will be even more protective now that we are wed.”

Satisfied by her response, Sandor turned loose of her face. “Damned straight I am, wife.” Brushing her hair away from her shoulder, Sandor rested his head against her. “If those bastards have brought any trouble to our family, they will rue the day they ever laid eyes on you, lass. Now put them out of your mind.”

Giggling, she turned to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist and wriggling against him. “Let’s play some more, husband.”

Sandor raised his eyebrow at her, struggling to hide his amusement. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough _playing_ for one evening, little bird?”

“Impossible, husband; no matter how often you love me, I will never have enough of you,” Sansa whispered against his mouth. Groaning at her words, Sandor lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed.

Their second lovemaking was far more frenzied and impassioned. Surprisingly, Sansa felt no pain and as a result, she was far less inhibited with her husband. Sandor seemed far less nervous as well, and he took her with a heated passion and to Sansa’s delight, he lasted far longer than their first time. Sansa, too, reached completion much faster, her husband’s fervent desire feeding her lust for him.

Sometime after the third quarter of the moon, he awakened her again. “It is snowing, lass,” Sandor whispered to her. Thick white flakes blanketed the windows, lending a frosty glow to the first light of dawn filtering into the room.

Silently she thanked her Father and the old gods for bestowing them with such a gift. “A true northern snow greets the first day of our wedded life together. It is a beautiful blessing from the gods.”

“Bloody cold one, too,” Sandor rubbed his hands together as he stoked the embers in the great fireplace. “How you Starks get used to this weather escapes me.”

“I am a Stark no longer, husband, but a Clegane both in law and name.”

Sandor grinned at her and reached for his tunic. Watching her husband pull on his breeches, Sansa curiously asked, “What takes you away from me so early?” When he made no response, she patted the pillow beside her. “Whatever it is can wait. Will you not come back to bed?”

“With this chilly weather, I’ll feel better once I’ve checked on Stranger, lass, and then I’ll be back.” Averting his eyes, Sandor pulled on his boots and then bent down to kiss her. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Must you do it now?” Sansa pouted, pulling him back into bed with her. “The stable keep and Hodor can handle him, I am certain of it.”

“He’s no colt, love and unaccustomed to this cold. Best see to it myself. I won’t be long,” Sandor bent his head and took her breast into his mouth, sucking lightly.

Whimpering softly, Sansa arched into him once more but was disappointed when Sandor resolutely moved away from her. “The longer you keep me here, the longer it will take for me to come back to you. You better get plenty of rest while you can, little bird,” Sandor winked at her and closed the door.

Humming quietly to herself, Sansa pushed aside her concern over Jon’s words and sighed resignedly, rose and decided she would run a bath while she awaited his return.


	21. The Wolf-Bird

Sansa’s agitation reignited Sandor’s long held fear that the gods would yet take her from him. Fury clawed at his throat, so much so that he was barely able to form the words of reassurance he knew his wife needed from him. Staring out at the storm, Sandor spent the rest of the night conjuring up all manner of scenarios and plans of action while waiting for daylight.

He knew she was disappointed he did not stay with her longer, but the frightening intensity of his anxiety drove him from her arms. After throwing on his clothing, Sandor hurriedly walked toward the family quarters, determined to speak to Jon and Rickon regardless of the hour.

“Lord Stark!” Sandor pounded on the door. “Goodbrother! Open up, I say!”

Movement rustled behind the door followed by indistinct voices. After a few moments, Rickon appeared, his inebriated eyes widening in alarm when he recognized Sandor. “What is it, Sandor? Is everything all right? Has Sansa fallen ill?”

“Sansa is well; set your mind at ease,” he growled harshly, annoyed that Rickon seemed determined to believe he would hurt her on their wedded night. After taking a deep breath, Sandor explained, “Yesterday Jon said two of you wanted to see us today. Such is not the custom here for newlyweds, the little birds says. You ought to tell me what this is about first before telling your sister.” He tightened his grip on the young man’s tunic as panic surged through him. “It’s the Karstarks, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Rickon rubbed his cheek and turned back toward the room. ”Take your ease Sandor, please.” He turned his head back into the room. “Shireen love, excuse us for a moment.”  

“Certainly, my love,” came Shireen’s soft reply. Sandor heard the bedroom door close and then Rickon gestured for him to come inside. “Come into the solar, goodbrother. Let us talk.”

Hastily Rickon then summoned Podrick to fetch Jon, and after his arrival, the two men sat down, ready to share everything that occurred in the godswood.

“Our direwolves cornered a host of Karstark men at the edge of the godswood. Summer stayed behind, no doubt at Bran’s bidding, to guard you and Sansa. We took them prisoner and brought them before Daenerys.”

“Bran guarded me and Sansa from what exactly?” Sandor clenched his fists. “You should have let those bastards come to me, if they fancied themselves man enough to face me.”

“I understand, believe me I do, but they did not come for a fight. Now you must prepare yourself for what I am about to say,” Rickon replied, and then he and Jon wisely moved away from him. “The Karstarks came to murder Sansa to prevent the North from joining houses with a Westerman from a minor house. When they caught sight of the direwolves they decided to wait until the ceremony was over, hoping to catch the two of you alone.”

“The fuck you say!” Sandor leapt to his feet and began pacing, struggling to contain his fury. “How in bloody hells did they get onto the castle grounds?”

“One of the Unsullied found four of our guards dead at the northern most watchtowers.

“How did you learn of their scheme?

“Arya caught one of their crossbowmen and coaxed it out of him, in her own unique way,” Jon replied dryly.

Sandor crossed the room, struggling to still his fury and clear his mind. “What did the she-wolf do with him?”

“She cut his hands off,” Rickon chuckled in spite of himself. “Then after the soldier told her the plan, she slit his throat in front of his men and gave him to Nymeria.”

“Good on her; I owe her one,” Sighing, he wiped his brow with a shudder. “You ought not to have let her do it, though. Your youngest sister is with child.”

“What?” Jon and Rickon asked simultaneously. Rubbing his face in disbelief, Jon asked, “How do you know that? Did Arya-”

“Sansa told me but I knew before that,” Sandor snorted with a shake of his head. “Never mind that now! I knew I should have killed them after that meeting!”

Pounding his fist on the table, he then overturned it before turning his eyes back to them, blackened by the terrible rage flowing through his body. “Bloody hells-Sansa could have been killed! One day you Starks will listen to me and Arya and forget your buggering honor and precious northern traditions!”

“Forgive us, goodbrother, but it was not at our bidding,” Jon rose and warily handed him a glass of wine. “Quite frankly, Rickon and I would have brought you to settle it straight away. Arya wanted to just let the direwolves finish them and be done with it. Daenerys, however, commanded that we allow her to handle it in order to demonstrate the North’s united stance with the South.”

“I see,” Sandor hissed out before gulping down the goblet.

“After we captured the Karstark men, she insisted we keep it to ourselves until after your wedded day. She didn’t want anything to ruin Sansa’s happiness.”

Grudgingly Sandor assented, knowing there was little either man could have done to overturn the queen’s decrees, relative or no. “What about the rest of the men? Where are they now?”

Jon refilled his glass. “They are imprisoned at Winterfell with Unsullied guarding them, awaiting your instructions on how to proceed.”

“Arya suggested Daenerys leave the punishment to you,” Rickon’s mouth twitched into a slight grin. “She thought you would give them far worse than us.”

“A smart one she is.” Sandor’s eyes glinted in a murderous rage, the men’s words reminding him of yet another reason the wolf bitch was often mistaken for his daughter.

Uneasily both men turned away from him. “Please, goodbrother, do sit down,” Rickon gestured to an overstuffed chair. “You must calm yourself. It will do Sansa no good to see you so agitated, and nothing more can be done at this hour.”

Grinding his teeth, Sandor eased into the chair and rubbed his hands down his thighs. “Let me tell Sansa when I’m ready, in my own way.”

Jon nodded knowingly. “Take your ease for a fortnight and then send word when you are ready to return to Winterfell. The Unsullied secured the area before your arrival, and I have already told your men here to keep on the watch. The Karstark men will keep in our cells.”

“I would prefer to have them tried here,” Sandor rasped low. “Those bastards need to learn that they will answer to _me,_ as Sansa’s husband _,_ for their treason-no offense intended to you, Lord Rickon.”

“He is right,” Jon agreed. “Sandor needs to lay the foundation of law for his lordship. And it is his right as her husband to take the lead in this matter.”

“Alright then, we will bring them here in a fortnight for trial. When will you tell Sansa?” Rickon quietly inquired. “We do not want to upset her more that need be, and I do not want her to feel afraid in her own home.”

“She won’t-she trusts me and she’s far stronger than you give her credit. I’ll tell her today,” Sandor rasped and then abruptly stormed out of the room.

He found Sansa curled up among the furs when he returned, with only her bright red hair visible, draped over the pillows like a scarlet curtain. She looked so beautiful, and peaceful that a fresh rage boiled within the man. Pushing aside his thoughts of the Karstarks, Sandor determined he would enjoy his wife and put aside his anger.

Quietly he stripped off his clothes and settled beside her, taking in her beautiful body as she slept. Watching Sansa give herself over to her passion for him the night before had unmanned him completely and resulted in the longest, most powerful peak Sandor had ever experienced. With her head thrown back, she had moaned wantonly as she ground down on his cock, her breasts brushing against his chest with each thrust of her hips. Proper, ladylike Sansa had ridden him shamelessly, and Sandor loved it.

His cock stirred at the memory. Lightly Sandor began tracing the pad of his index finger over the dark red love marks he left behind her ear, at the hollow of her throat, around each nipple and finally over the sweet spot just above her woman’s place.

Sandor couldn’t resist swirling his finger there, and Sansa moaned softly and arched into his hand. Delighted, he looked up to see her smiling sleepily at him.

“My love, you must be frozen,” she gathered him close, pulling the furs over them. “Let me warm you up.”

“Being near you heats my blood quicker than anything,” he growled against her breast, lightly sucking on her nipple while he caressed the curve of her hip and pulled her closer still.

Sansa sighed happily, her fingertips outlining the musculature of his back and shoulders. “I drew us steaming bath to help take off the chill.”

Cradling her in his arms, he brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Not yet,” Sansa blushed as she brushed her mouth against his lips, gently nibbling at them. The gesture was a curious blend of innocence and desire, and yet it sent a powerful wave of lust through his blood. Sandor caressed her face and marveled at the ability of the beautiful creature in his arms to easily, utterly gain mastery over him with just a gentle kiss.

Her eyes searched his face, a concerned expression welling within the deep blue pools in which he so loved to drown.   _I will not lose you,_ Sandor repeated like a prayer as he began solemnly making love to her.  

This time it was easier for her, and somehow more emotional, for she clung to him desperately, staring deep into his eyes even as she peaked. Afterward, as he lay panting against her breast, he felt warm tears showering his neck and shoulders.

“What is it?” Sandor rasped quietly, rising up on one elbow.

Sansa cupped his face in both hands. “You make me so very happy, Sandor, that is all.”

“That is everything, little bird, believe that.”

With a soft smile, Sansa started to nod at him and then yelped in surprise as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the tub.

“Just look at the view, Sandor!” Sansa excitedly pointed out the window as she settled into the bath. “It is so lovely, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he replied, meaning her. “Lovely indeed.”

Splashing him playfully, Sansa laughed. “Not _me_ , husband-the lake! Look how it appears rosy pink in the early morning light.”

“Just as you do, lass,” Sandor murmured into her neck while gently unbraiding her hair.  It amazed the man how much pleasure he derived from merely touching her; even something as mundane as a bath took on a new appeal with the little bird.

But then everything about his beloved wife had always fascinated him. The simple pleasure he has found in her company, in taking in her seemingly endless beauty and making her laugh reminded the formerly hardened man of the many changes Sansa brought about in him. The realization both delighted and frightened Sandor, plaguing him with the fear that such changes would compromise his ability to protect her _.  I will not lose you;_ Sandor repeated his silent mantra as he bathed her. _I will keep you safe_.

Sansa, for her part, remained blissfully unaware of his dark thoughts and continued chatting merrily about the beauty of their new home, her plans for a glass garden, and many other things Sandor only half heard in his distressed state.

When he finished, Sandor allowed her to bath him, all the while staring at her intently, struggling to keep the worry from his face as he regarded his beloved wife. Her gentle ministrations unexpectedly brought on a rush of emotion, causing Sandor to abruptly turn away from her. “Wash my hair, woman.”

Laughing, Sansa tenderly ran her lathered hands through the length of his hair. “How is Stranger this morning? Did he pass the night well?”

“Aye he is fine, lass, just as you said. Hodor was already up feeding him, and Rafe had stoked the smithy to warm the stables.”

“I am glad of it,” she smiled mischievously. “So, tell me what my brothers had to say. They must have been shocked to see you at such an early hour.”

“Little bird, bloody hells, I-“

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Please, tell me, Sandor.”

“Aye, alright.” After he settled her astride his lap, Sandor looked into her eyes and cautiously related everything Jon and Rickon said. Her eyes darkened as he spoke, and to his surprise, the little bird took on a determined, decided air as he finished.

“I do not wish to wait a fortnight for those men to be executed, Sandor; neither do we need a trial.”

Pulling back, he held her chin in between his fingers. “No? Why not?

“Father taught us a trial was only needed if there were no eyewitnesses. In this case, the direwolves caught them red-handed, and Arya heard a confession with my brothers as witnesses.” Having made up her mind, she nodded and drew a deep breath. “I will ask them to have the men brought here at once. You may do with them whatever you see fit, husband.”

Smirking, Sandor kissed her cheek. “You are no longer a little bird, lass-now you are a wolf-bird.”

“And you are my wolf-Hound,” she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck.

As they broke their fast with the queen and their wedded guests, Sandor listened as Sansa skillfully pled her case. To his surprise, all the northern lords and ladies readily agreed to her decision.

“The North Remembers, Lady Clegane,” Wyman Manderly rose from his seat. “We will stand behind your decision.” At his words a great cry went up in the dining hall as everyone assembled pledged their support to Houses Stark and Clegane, and the queen.

“You do your father proud, my lady,” Maege Mormont kissed her cheek as she and the other guests prepared to depart the keep.

“Thank you for saying so, Lady Mormont,” Sansa tearfully replied. “Sandor is not very well acquainted with our ways. I want to be a good lady wife and I feel it is my duty and privilege to help my husband in any way I can.”

Her words pleased him greatly, and Sandor turned aside to hide the grin threatening his face.

“You are, lass, and the best of your lady mother and lord father, too, the old gods rest their souls.” Maege smiled approvingly.  “Our way is the old way, tried and true and I daresay it will suit Clegane far better than the shit shoveling that goes on in King’s Landing.”

 The old woman winked at Sandor and then took Sansa’s face into her weathered hands. “Always remember your wise father’s words, child: the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Since you are not a swordswoman, in this case it should be left to your lord husband.”

“I will, my lady,” Sansa replied, squeezing Sandor’s arm. “But I will attend the execution and I will honor my father’s words: if you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words.”

“There’s a good lass. A true Stark you are.”

“I am both Stark and Clegane, and proud of it.”

Her declaration went straight to Sandor’s heart, and tears welled in his eyes, the man maintaining his sober countenance with difficulty.

Laughing, Maege patted them both on the shoulders. “As well you should be.”

After all the guests said their goodbyes, Daenerys dispatched Ser Jorah ahead of them with orders for Greyworm and the rest of the Unsullied to escort the Karstarks to Winterfrost Keep for execution.


	22. Life, Love and Lordship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the final chapter :D Thanks to everyone for their comments, reviews, art and critiques. Your enthusiasm feeds the muse, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing this story. In the future I have considered adding deleted scenes that delve into Rickon and Shireen/ Jon and Dany/ Arya and Gendry's relationships, which I will add on to this as a series. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading :D

The snowstorm on their wedded night delayed the prisoners from Winterfell for several days. Steadfastly ignoring the world outside, Sandor and Sansa left the comforts of their featherbed only occasionally to venture around their property, exercise the horses, and explore the vast icy coastline.

Heated and passionate while other times slow, sweet and languid,  the newlyweds laughed and played during their lovemaking.  To her delight, Sandor took her anywhere the mood struck him, and Sansa never denied him, so happy she was with his love. She never imagined the fierce, stoic man who guarded her was capable of such tenderness and passion, and Sansa eagerly took all he had to offer her in body as well as heart. They had made love in the tall yellow grass in the meadow, among the coppery leaves blanketing the wood, and in the warm pools fed by the hot springs as the late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky.

Sansa marveled at the change wrought in Sandor in the short time they were wed, and learning her fearsome husband in this new and intimate way brought a sense of completeness, and the young woman was contented in a manner she never thought possible.  Though haunted by the discovery of the Karstarks treason, Sansa resolutely put it out of her mind, and Sandor, for his part, did not mention it; and so the two went about enjoying their wedded life as they awaited the prisoners from Winterfell.

At the end of a sennight, Samwell Tarly knocked tentatively at the door of their chambers early one morning. “Lord Clegane, the queen and Prince Jon have left White Harbor for King’s Landing with orders for you. Also, the prisoners have arrived. What should be done with them, Ser?”

“Put them in our cells,” Sandor muttered while Sansa kissed her way down his stomach.

“Too many for that, Ser.”

Sandor’s muscles instinctively tensed at his words. Puzzled, Sansa glanced up at him. “Too many for the cells to hold at once?”

Frowning, Sandor shrugged and ran his hand over his face. “Well, if that isn’t big enough, bar them in the stables with Stranger.”

“Ser, mayhaps you best come see for yourself-“

Willing the world outside away for a few moments more, Sansa shook her head. “No husband, I am not finished with you yet.” Giggling softly, she took him into her mouth.

“Bloody hells!” He hissed, fisting his hands in her hair. “Sam, I’ll be down later-and don’t come back with anymore buggering questions, do you hear?”

Sansa sucked lightly on him and then swirled her tongue swirled over the tip of his manhood the way she knew he liked, delighting in the way his entire body trembled under her touch.  

“Gods woman,” he groaned out desperately. “You’re getting too bloody good at this.”

“I want to please you, husband.” Gently she cupped his buttocks in her hands and stroked his thighs as she continued tasting him, reveling in the sight of him coming completely undone at her touch.

Sandor’s legs shuddered as a long moan echoed in his throat. “Come here, lass.” Eagerly he lifted her into his lap and rolled over on top of her, pinning her with his arms as he thrust hard and deep into her.

Squeaking out in surprise, she moaned against the warm skin of his neck, sucking on the pulse point below his ear. “But Sandor, I would learn to-“

“No lass, I’d rather finish inside your sweet cunt,” Sandor growled as he heatedly kissed her mouth.

“Yes,” Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him inside her. She didn’t want Sandor to waste a single opportunity to put a child in her belly, and her husband’s peculiar behavior of late suggested he was beginning to feel the same way.

Even after his time with the brothers on the Quiet Isle, it was a rare and precious thing to hear Sandor supplicate the gods,  but the promise of their future family brought this deeply personal side of  Sandor to the fore in an entirely unexpected manner. Many times when he thought she was sleeping, Sandor caressed her stomach reverently, resting his scarred cheek there and speaking silent prayers to the Seven for their family.

“Sandor, we should stop-we really should go,” Sansa panted into his ear as she desperately arched to meet him, drenching him with her wetness as her body embraced him.

“No,” he snarled, thrusting deeper into her. “Not until you peak, little bird.”

“Touch me, then.” Reaching between them, she placed his hand on the sensitive nub above her slit and guided his fingers in slow circles there. Rolling her hips, she sighed contentedly, and Sandor wasted no time quickening his pace.

“Fuck, but you are a hot little thing,” he hissed into her thick mane, gripping her hips tightly and urging her on.

“Mother have mercy,” Sansa sobbed out as his hips ground faster against her. Her thighs quivered as her peak rushed upon her, her muscles suddenly clenching tightly against his cock. With a loud groan, Sandor spent himself inside her not long after. Lying together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, they laughed together self-consciously as the struggled to regain their breaths.

“For shame, Sandor, I think we gave the maester an earful. Perhaps we should-”

“I told him to leave,” Sandor chuckled as he pulled her tightly against his chest. “I’m not going to fucking apologize for enjoying my wife, damn it.”

Giggling softly, Sansa snuggled down against his chest. She loved the way his arms gently cradled her against his body after their lovemaking, and warm and sated, she soon began dozing off in his arms.

Sandor shifted slightly, the movement awakening her. “I can’t tarry, wife. I’ve got to see what the men are doing with the prisoners before Stranger kicks the shit out of all of them.”

“I am going with you,” Sansa rolled away from him and stretched languidly. He studied her for a moment, and she could see that he he was framing a protest in his mind.

Throwing back the covers, she ignored him and hurried to the washbasin. Wordlessly Sansa bathed and brushed her hair as he watched her. Sandor lay motionless, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her standing nude before him in the bright morning light, though it was now a familiar sight to the man.

“Sansa, damn it, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he grumbled after a while. “Those men don’t deserve to have you in their presence, believe that.”

“During my childhood, many of those very men ate at my father’s table, you know,” Sansa sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. “They danced with my mother at our feasts and came to our nameday celebrations.”

“I know, lass.” Sighing, he frowned at her.

“I am eager to hear what those men have to say for themselves. I must look upon their faces and hear their words.”

“You don’t want to do that. I know you think you do-”

Sansa moved swiftly back to his side and pressed her fingers over his lips. “Please do not finish that sentence. I know my own mind, and I am quite determined to look upon the men who plotted this treachery. It is our way-the way of the north.”

Shrugging, Sandor kissed her fingers and nodded. “Aye, then I’ll take you to them wife.”

“Thank you,” she bent down and gently kissed his mouth. “Now let us get ready.”

* * *

Arya and Rickon, together with their direwolves, solemnly greeted the couple and then guided them to the holding area. Though the cells of Winterfrost Keep bore no resemblance to the Black cells, Sansa shivered involuntarily, suddenly reminded that that her father spent the last days of his life in such a place.

 Four Unsullied nudged the prisoners closer to them as they entered the prison. “You ready, wife?” Sandor asked, holding the torchlight to the bars.

Sansa gave a slight nod and looked over to Arya, who squeezed her hand. “It’s alright, Sissy,” she whispered into Sansa’s ear.

Her sister and husband shared many qualities, both of them capable of both unspeakable violence and great tenderness, and it pleased her to see that marriage seemed to nurture the latter quality in them as well.

Rickon called out, “Come forward to the bars for your lady.”

A large group of men slowly approached. Sansa’s stomach sank as she looked into each man’s face by turns. She recognized many of the men as ones whom often feasted at her father’s table, sang songs with Jory and Roderick Cassel and danced with her mother on their namedays; now the very same men were imprisoned at her home, ready to answer for treason. “There are so many,” Sansa shook her head.

“Twenty less one, sister,” Arya said quietly. “What would you have us do with them, Hound?”

“Ask your sister,” he put his hand around her waist. “She was the one they plotted to kill. What say you, wife?”

Stepping closer, Sansa quietly answered, “Execute them, one and all.” She turned her face up to Sandor, who seemed startled by her words. “I want them brought out to the meadow due east to the large granite rock directly. I will not feed and shelter these traitors in our home, husband.”

Lord Karstark pressed his way to the front of the prisoners. “My lady, the north will never agree to this judgment. It will bring war, mark my words. Have mercy for the sake of your people and let us return to our homes.“

“Shut your bloody mouth,” Sandor drew his sword and pointed it to his throat.

“I am wolf-blooded, Lord Karstark, the same as my brother and sister,” Sansa held up her hand. “It was mercy for them to have spared you thus far. You would ask for mercy of me? To what end? For you and your men to bide your time to make another attempt? I have learned far too many lessons to confuse leniency with mercy, Lord Karstark, and you will receive no more from the Starks and Cleganes.” With that she turned to leave, and Arya reached for her hand and led her out.

Outside Sansa gravely watched Sandor, Grey Worm and Brienne ready the prisoners, all the while wondering how many other men supported the Karstark’s insurgency. _Will more come after us? Or will executing these men deter them?_  Sansa already knew the answer, though, and resignedly she forced down her trepidation, determined to follow through with what must be done.

“There’s more men than I thought,” Sandor commented darkly to Rickon, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Mayhap we should take a sortie and go south, root out their supporters once and for all.”

“Yes, I agree. I am certain these are but a few of the men who planned this treachery. I have already sent word to Jon and the queen at White Harbor,” Rickon shook his head angrily. “To think they dared ask for mercy? No man who plots against my family will live to see another three moons.”

Heaving a deep sigh, Sansa stoically nodded her assent. _All we wanted was a bit of peace-is that too much to ask?_ Seemingly reading her thoughts, Arya rested her arm around Sansa’s waist, while Nymeria and Shaggydog howled mournfully in response.

When the preparations were completed, Sansa followed in the path of her forefathers and listened to each man’s statement before personally sentencing each one to death. Brienne, Arya and Grey Worm executed the lower ranking men before Sandor took the lives of Lord Karstark and the rest of his sons.

Surprisingly, afterward Sansa discovered she only felt a grim sense of accomplishment in the knowledge that she did her duty to her family and the north. _There is far more to lordship and ladyship that living in a beautiful keep._ Rememberingthe many times her Father sat polishing his sword beneath Winterfell’s heart tree, she felt she understood him better now, and Sansa decided she would follow his path in this respect as well.

 “When will you leave?” Sansa quietly asked after she finished her prayers.

Sandor’s face twitched apprehensively. “On the morrow with your brother, Brienne and Greyworm. Arya and Gendry will stay here with you.”

“Very good,” Sansa took him by the hand and then motioned to her brother and sister. “Then let us all pray together for a safe, swift outcome.”

After the evening meal, they retired to their room, where Sandor gently took her into his arms. They made love the rest of the night, their earlier playfulness now supplanted by the sadness of their impending separation. Their coupling was beautiful and moving, and in later years, when Sansa recalled the night before their parting, she was convinced that it was then that they conceived their first child.

* * *

In Sandor’s absence, Sansa kept herself busy with the many duties that came with her new station as Lady of Winterfrost Keep. Though nowhere near as daunting a task as managing Winterfell, there was much to be done. Gendry, Ser Jorah and Sam assisted her in managing the daily affairs of the keep and soon she found the routine invigorating, the young woman satisfied to turn the new keep into a warm home for her husband.

The miseries of early pregnancy kept Arya abed most days, and Sansa passed much of the time at her side making baby clothes for the impending births and regaling her with stories of her experiences at the Red Keep. Though she missed her husband greatly, Sansa was grateful for the time with her younger sister, and the two women grew closer than ever before as they awaited the return of their family.

When Sandor returned one warm afternoon,  he found his wife praying in front of the Heart tree. Raising her eyes, Sansa let out a small cry and leapt into his arms, covering every part of him she could reach with kisses while wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Thank the gods, you are safe! Is Rickon-“

“Safe at Winterfell, when last I saw him,” Sandor buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. “Gods be good you are a sight for sore eyes, lass.”

“And you, my love!” Sansa eagerly searched him, her eyes widening on the bandage covering his forearm. “Were you injured?”

“Aye a bit,” he settled her down at the base of the tree “Never mind that; come here, lass.”

“Sandor,” she whispered between kisses, “tell me what happened.”

“Tis but a scratch,” he roughly pulled her against him while caressing her face. “It’s all over now. Let us put it behind us.”

Eagerly she returned his kisses, running her hands over his back, the young woman impatient for the feel of his skin against her own.

“Take me, here, now,“ Sansa unlaced his breeches and freed his hardened manhood. Settling onto his lap, Sandor found she wasn’t wearing smallclothes, his surprise melting into sweet pleasure as she lowered her warm wet center over his cock.

Sandor took her harder than ever before, so desperate was his need for her, and Sansa heatedly matched his passion with her own, her nails digging into his shoulders as he cried out her name and spilled his seed deep inside her.

Afterward, as they lay gasping in each other’s arms, Sansa whispered in his ear. “You must never leave me again. I cannot bear it.”

Chuckling, Sandor tucked himself back into his breeches. “I just might have to, if it means being welcomed by my lady in such a manner.”

Gently he ran his thumb over her breasts and then over the swell of her belly. “You’re different, somehow,” Sandor curiously looked her over before a joyous thought to hold in his mind.

Sansa’s bright blue eyes glistened with happiness as she moved his hand to her stomach once more. “Yes, my love, I am with child. ”

“You’re certain?” He asked incredulously, the man at once overjoyed and yet fearful.

“Yes, the maester confirmed it a fortnight hence!” Sansa laughed and moved his hand low on her pelvis. “Feel that?”

“Aye,” he whispered low, gazing in wonder at the movement beneath his palm.

“Your child is responding to the sound of your voice.”

“You ought to have told me and I would have been more careful,” Sandor lifted her into his arms and carried her back into the keep.

Seven moons later, after much labor, Erryk Clegane was brought forth, the first of seven children born to the first Lord and Lady of Winterfrost Keep.

The family saw five summers come and go before the time came for Sandor and Sansa to rejoin their ancestors.  Surrounded by their children and grandchildren, the couple discovered that Sansa’s dream had become a reality, for the couple returned to the Kings of Winter after falling sound asleep in each other’s arms, warm and safe in their featherbed.


End file.
